Null Tongues, Act I: The End
by sleep-dealer
Summary: It used to be a quiet world, a simple world, until Edea Kramer fell out of the sky. / / First Act of the NT series. OC's.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note  
**Welcome! This is the first arc of the NT series. It's long and it's complicated, but I hope you'll stay to give it a chance. The main cast is mostly OC's to begin with, so if that's not your deal, I really wouldn't recommend this story (I totally understand, no hard feelings). I should also warn you that I have rewritten this act maybe 3 times, but it's still far from perfect. These first few bits are very sloppy and a little cliche... so if you do stick around, please be patient! I'm always open to constructive criticism and thoughts on how to improve the story. Thanks a bunch!

* * *

"_...It's getting late. You guys should get back to the castle soon."_

"_Is this the last time I'll see the two of you?"_

"_No. But be patient. In a few months, after I have some money, I'm coming back, and we'll take the bitch down. Until then, just..."_

"_Just what?"_

"_...Don't let her control you."_

* * *

**Null Tongues  
Act 1: The End**

* * *

_Sydney_

"So it's true," said the woman.

She crossed the room towards the window, her feet gliding underneath her skirt. For a long time, she just stood there, facing the hazy light from outside. My eyes had hardly adjusted to the room, but I was starting to see the furnishings. The round coffee table, the long book shelves and the single easy chair. It all felt familiar, yet distant.

Lonely.

"But you haven't considered disowning yourself?" the woman asked. "You're old enough to be emancipated."

Seventeen, at the time. I could have left the family two years beforehand, but I never did. There had never been a reason to do so.

"Sure," I replied. "But wouldn't it be..." What was the word I was looking for? "Unfair?"

"Quite," the woman answered. All the same, she went on. "It's killing me to know that you'll be leaving, Love, especially after all the progress you've made." She paused. The silence was deafening. "I'd like to offer you something very important before you bid Endsville goodbye."

Edea Kramer had always been notorious for her "tones." She – my mentor – would drench her voice with motherly affection so that her sinister intent seemed to snuff itself out.

She wanted something that night. To this day, I'm not really sure what.

"Great." I was growing more anxious with each turn of her tongue. "Nothing expensive though, right?"

"No," Edea said. "That would never do. How soon, did you say?"

"Simon's on his way to get me now, I think."

"Then sit."

"But-" I had to stop myself; she was watching me from over her shoulder, her figure mostly hidden by menacing shadows in the dark. She lifted her hand to a light switch on the wall. At once, the room flooded with a harsh, overbearing light from the chandelier.

I winced.

Edea's complexion was ghostly white, as if she were constructed from bleached sand. Her face seemed inanimate, like a mask, except for two brilliant, golden eyes that looked down on me with an unreadable gloss. Her lips, painted with the finest of purple lipsticks, smiled on me wistfully. My eyes moved over the finely tailored, black dress she wore, the silk gloves, and finally the feather collar that complimented her long neck so well. Her black hair, I remember, was always tied up under a crown that resembled a bird. Or rather, a hawk, I always thought.

She was the hawk, I was the mouse.

"I told you to sit."

My mouth was open before the sound came out. "Yeah..."

Edea approached the coffee table in a few long strides, making her way around it and behind me. When she reached out, I recoiled. She set her hands on my shoulders and said, "I won't hurt you. I want this chance. It's very important to me that I share this with my children, and you've been a very, very good girl, Sydney."

Seconds later she withdrew her prying fingers, and I obediently sat down in the arm chair.

Her words stung. Being a "good girl" in her mind meant betraying everything I stood for. I knew, even then, that beyond the luxurious walls of the moving castle, the Patriots were falling apart, and there was nothing I could do about it.

"You're so kind," I lied.

"Do I seem so?" Edea asked. "Oh." She let out a chilling, girlish giggle. "Your friends seem to think otherwise."

"They're not my friends."

I couldn't read her expression, and that was enough to get me flustered.

"Your brother made it out, you know. I tried to catch him, but he escaped. I can't do anything to him now."

"He's a nonbeliever." _We all are,_ I didn't add.

"It's all right," she assured me. "I'm not as angry as I pretend to be."

"Please..." I wished she would stop toying with me, after all this time. Just once, I wished she would be straightforward with me, tangling me up in her words.

Before I had time to react, she had an arm fastened around my neck. I felt her leaning over the back of the chair to come closer. If she was breathing, I didn't hear it. At first I thought that maybe she was just hugging me, so I closed my eyes to let it happen, but it didn't take long to realize what was really going on.

She was choking me, like I had tried to choke her.

I trashed against her, I dug my nails into her arm and tried to tear it away. Her free hand snaked to my chest, and suddenly a black mass of energy filled her palm. Dark magic.

Edea knelt down in front of me, pressing her thumbs into my collarbone. The dark matter burned on the surface, but on the inside it felt cold, icy, stinging at my chest and lungs.

"Do you feel this?" Edea whispered.

Of course I felt it. I felt as if all the happiness had been drained from my body. From the world. Though, I suppose I really should have been used to it by then.

I sat there with my mouth gaping open, helpless. My thought process became incredibly slow, and I found myself actually finding relief in the idea that the homicidal sorceress could take my life. It would be easier to die here than say goodbye to this city. My city.

Endsville.

There was physical pain, and plenty on it, but the pus-filled wound on my pride ran much deeper. Only days before, I'd convinced myself that I'd been so close to the truth. So, so close...

Close to discovering Rinoa Heartily, and the strange way that our lives seemed connected. Close to finding out the truth about Edea Kramer, about who she was, _what_ she was. So close...

"Now listen to me, Sydney," the woman said. She set her forehead to mine. Her movement was so graceful, so personal, I couldn't help but get caught up in her beauty, even with empty lungs and a burning throat. I tried to draw back, but her free arm pulled me close, and I could see the radiant insanity in her eyes. As I tried to move, she pushed her hand tighter into my chest.

Our flesh was melding, I'd decided. We were becoming one.

"Be still," she whispered. "I'm putting a piece of my heart into you. You wouldn't want me to mess this up. The results could be fatal."

Breathing became a chore. Before too long, I was overflowing with emotions that weren't my own. There was a high pitched ringing in my ears that I felt all the way up to my eyes. I fell limp in her grasp, pressing my forehead to her shoulder and clinging to the fabric of her dress. "I love you," I heard myself weeping.

"Naughty girl." Edea's fingers caressed the top of my head. "You shouldn't lie."

First the room disappeared. Then Endsville. Gradually, my mind's grasp on even Edea was released.

After that, black. All I could see was black.


	2. Chapter 2

**AN:** Rewritten, as of 10/01/11.

* * *

_Sydney_

"Zane, look! A shooting star!"

I pointed a finger out to the night sky and shook Zane's shoulder. We were sitting on his front stoop. The rows of townhouses, some of them brick, faced us in the dark. I think it was about midnight. We had been busy throwing rocks down the walkway up until just then.

"Did you see it, Zane? Did you?"

"I-I think so."

I grinned and clasped my hands together, closing my eyes and repeating my wish in my head as fast as I could: _I wish Chel Rosenburg would like me, I wish Chel Rosenburg would like me, I wish..._

"Darn it."

"What's the matter?" Zane asked.

I looked up at him and frowned. "I don't think I said it fast enough," I told him. He smiled at me.

"Well, what'd you wish for?"

Pushing my lip into a pout, I shoved him and crossed my arms. "I can't tell you, dummy! If I do, it'll never come true!"

"Oh. I forgot."

He yawned. I was boring him.

Dad worked late. Mom liked to go out often. "To take a break from parenting," she always said. She went out a lot in those days and never left me a key, reminding me that I couldn't be trusted. My big brother Simon and I used to leave the latch open on the back window in case one of us got locked out, so we could crawl through and go up to bed. But I checked that night, and the window was locked too. At the time I'd assumed Simon was out with Chel and Gwen, Zane's big sister. On a _school _night. He was gonna be in trouble.

It was the last day of summer vacation before I started high school. I was fifteen, and I hung out with Zane even though he was younger than me. We went to the same middle school for a while, but nobody liked him because he had red hair, so I had to be there to stick up for him. It'd been that way for a while by that time, maybe a year or two.

Whenever I got locked out, I went to Zane's house. Sometimes I went straight home with him from the bus stop. Simon used to say it was "beneath me" to ride the bus now that I was starting the ninth grade. It always smelled like spit and socks in there.

I loved going to Zane's house after school. Mrs. Aspen looked just like her son. They both had this dark, rust-red hair with watery, honey-colored eyes. Gwen was the same way, only she had big ears and was in the same grade as Simon. Their house always smelled like Pine-Sol and cookies, not at all like the school bus.

It was too hot that year for honeysuckle to grow, so instead we breathed the smell of our neighbor's damp, mown grass in bags.

My eyelids were getting heavy. I leaned to the side and pressed my forehead to Zane's shoulder. He hugged me with one arm.

Shifting my weight to get comfortable, I imagined Chel Rosenburg outside during the summer, mowing all day. In my fantasy, he was shirtless, and I brought him him ice-cold lemonade.

I'd always wanted to make lemonade for someone. Stupid, I know, but it seemed really personal to me. My mother used to get the instant, powdered kind so Dad could take it to work for lunch. I always thought it was too sour. There was no love in the mixture to make it taste sweet.

_I wish Chel Rosenburg would like me, so that I can make him real lemonade, and not the instant crap._

"What would you wish for?" I asked my redheaded friend. "If you caught a shooting star."

"I'd wish for your brother to like me," Zane admitted. His statement was a little uncomfortable for both of us. We were caught up in this weird situation. In our humble suburban area, everyone had a crush on _someone_. "Or maybe I wouldn't."

I looked up at him. "How come?"

"Simon likes Chel."

See what I mean?

Zane had only just admitted that he'd been attracted to both genders a few months ago, and Simon had liked boys since before I could remember. Guess I've always hung around boys who like boys, even when I was younger. I attracted them like moths to a flame. When it comes down to it though, I think we were all just looking for something to do. Endsville was simple, back then. Boring even.

It all came down to one person, too. Everybody liked Chel, except Zane. Zane liked Simon, but I never understood why. Chel, to me, was perfect. Everything about him was beautiful. Even his name sounded beautiful. Chel Rosenburg. I always said the full name when I thought of him. Chel Rosenburg. The problem, of course, resided in my elder brother, who found everything about him - including his name - just as beautiful as I did, but at the same time there was Zane's feelings, and... Eugh. It was all just one, nasty circle of broken hearts waiting to happen.

"I guess," Zane continued, snapping me out of my dream world. "I'd wish for summer vacation to keep going. Forever."

I couldn't have agreed more. Neither of us wanted to return to school, especially since I was about to become a ninth grader. In just under twelve hours, I would be high schooler, which was cool in its own sense, but I wasn't too sure what to think about it. When you're in the eighth grade, the thought of starting high school is both glamorous and horrifying.

"Me too," I mumbled, although I'm not sure I meant it.

* * *

_"Oh, yeah, I remember that night."  
"I guess it's kind of irrelevant, but..."_

_"No, it's not irrelevant. It's nice to think about life before all this."_

_"We should move on. There's a lot of ground to cover."_  
_"I guess you're right..."_

**V**


	3. Chapter 3

**AN:** Rewritten as of 10/8/11.

* * *

**The End - Then**

_Zane_

Things weren't all well and good, though, even before everything exploded.

It was another night sitting up in the living room, watching old reruns of the Simpsons. And another. And another. They always left me waiting.

On some level, I guess I understood that change was normal. Necessary, even. But at the time, there was only one thing I wanted to say to the materialistic ghoul that had taken over my sister: "Fuck you." Or something along those lines.

Don't get me wrong. Gwen and I were never two of a kind to begin with. We'd always had our differences. For the most part, she was my buddy. Heck, I even shared a room with her up until my grandmother passed away. Then Gwen inherited the bigger of the two bedrooms, which was good for me, because she'd started listening to some heavier music, and the posters on the wall were giving me night terrors.

The most dramatic change, however, applied to her social life. She had started hanging out with some college kids at the start of that summer. Simon Gunner was her best friend, and she wanted to date him, and I was insanely jealous.

Yeah, Gwen was caught up in the big love pentagon, too. It's pretty ridiculous to think about now. We all took things so seriously back then.

Gwen and Simon became friends before myself and Sydney – he'd been coming around the house for maybe a month beforehand - but I didn't actually start crushing on Simon until I met his little sister, oddly enough.

When I told Gwen that I liked him, she just started at me, then she laughed and explained that Simon was heterosexual, which made me hate her even more, because I knew this was a lie. Simon liked Chel, he'd told me so himself. Even still, Gwen's words had convinced me that she had a much better shot with Simon than I could ever hope for, and I wasn't afraid to admit it. Every weekend they would go out into the city with the college kids to do whatever college kids did. Maybe they were doing drugs. I didn't know, I didn't care, all I knew was that Gwen was coming home really late at night, and I didn't like that.

Sleeping on the couch during the weekends was fun because I could stay up and watch TV. Although I never really paid much attention to the crude, adult humor broadcasted after we younger folk were supposed to be fast asleep. In actuality, I was just waiting to make sure Gwen came home safe.

It was easier knowing Simon was with her. I knew he wouldn't let her do anything too stupid.

That night, around two thirty in the morning, Gwen finally staggered through the front door as quietly as she could. It was hard to make out her form in the dark, but I could see her silhouette wobble in the space between the front door and the living room. I closed my eyes and pretended to be asleep. She turned off the TV and pulled the afghan over my legs, putting her mouth to my forehead. Her lips were smeared with sticky gloss. A few new articles have smashed themselves into her once angelic scent. Her juniper body spray masked the smell of the weed well enough, but cheap beer is never very good at hiding itself, especially with three or four in the mass.

The last thing I remember thinking about before I drifted into slumber was whether or not beer could really make someone prettier than they already are. How could something so foul make something better, when it was already perfect? Something like Simon Gunner?

I didn't know, I didn't want to know. To this day, I still don't.

* * *

_"I wonder of the Empress was controlling people back then, too."  
"Don't call her that."  
"Sorry."  
"I kind of doubt that. The adults didn't start acting really weird until..."_

**V**


	4. Chapter 4

**AN:** Rewritten as of 10/8/11.

* * *

**The End - Then**

_Sydney_

If there's one thing I have to say, it's this: high school is, and forever will be, completely overrated.

The only thing that made the cramped hallways and dirty lockers worth it was that I got to see Simon almost every day. We had lunch together on Tuesdays and Fridays, and he let me hang out with some of his older friends on the steps near the music building.

When I sat on those steps with my big brother, I switched into cool mode. I used words like "dude" and "man" to address everyone, even Gwen. Simon would play the blues on his harmonica, and I was happy.

Mara, a very pretty senior with C-cups, sat on the steps on the days I didn't have lunch with Simon. I'll never forget that girl, even if we didn't have many common interests.

Mara wanted to study accounting. I wanted to be a dancer.

She liked blue, I preferred red.

She didn't have any siblings, but had a little sister on the way. I'd know my big brother my whole life.

Somehow, though, we still got along, and we still found things to talk about. One day she asked me, "You really love your brother, don't you?"

Her question surprised me. Why wouldn't I love Simon? He always got good grades, and everyone knew his name. Simon, mellow, respectful, and good looking, was everything I wanted to be, and more. My hero.

"Why?" I inquired.

"You talk about him a lot."

"Really?"

"Mm hm."

I looked down at the half-eaten turkey sandwich in my lap. "Oh. Sorry."

"No, no!" Mara smiled at me. "It's not a bad thing. I think it's really cute. I hope my little sister ends up like you."

Her comment made my day, and when I met Simon in the parking lot to go home, I took extra care to hug him tight and tell him that I loved him. He asked me if I had a fever and kissed my forehead, just to make sure.

The only reason to put up with high school was because I got to spend time with my brother.

* * *

The mirror on the side of Dad's car had been positioned just enough so that I could see my face. It was a really simple face, with a pixie nose and brown eyes. My dark hair went past my shoulders back then. I never really stood out in a crowd. I always thought my face would do well with freckles or something. Maybe dimples even. Something interesting.

My old babysitter used to tell me that if you smiled, put your finger in your cheek and turned it for thirty seconds every morning, you'd start to get a dimple. I'd been doing it every day for four years.

"I think it's working!" I told my brother. "I think I'm getting a dimple!"

Simon glanced at me. "Where?" he asked.

I smiled really big. He went back to the road. "Oh. I see it." His voice told me he was unconvinced, but it was better than nothing. "You want me to drop you off at Zane's place today? Mom and Dad are going to some election ceremony for the new ambassador."

Sitting back, I squinted into the drop down mirror and touched my finger to the budding crease in my cheek. "Mrs. Aspen is making Zane and Gwen go." I puffed out my cheeks, let the air out through my lips and frowned. "Mom and Dad want us to go, too..."

Simon clicked his tongue. "Crap. I was hoping they hadn't said anything to you about it yet so we could skip out." He lifted his free hand to scratch at his chin. "Well, if you've got nowhere to be, I won't make you suffer alone."

"What's the new ambassador's name again?"

"A-da-ya Kermit, or something."

Later, I would learn that he had the name completely wrong. For now, though, it made me crack a smile. "That's a stupid name."

"Hey," Simon started, "Reach into the glove box and get me my chap-stick, will you?"

* * *

The moonlight from eight in the evening seemed dim in comparison to the lights coming from the governor's hall. Mom and Dad were with me, and Simon stood directly at my side. We were standing towards the front of the crowd, closest to the street. The parade was about to start.

I'd been looking for Zane and his family the whole time, but I couldn't find them anywhere. Mom finally grabbed my shoulder and pushed me down to my feet because I was standing on my toes.

"Settle down," she told me. "Stop fidgeting."

But I couldn't stop fidgeting. We'd gotten there early to get a good spot, but by then we'd been waiting for almost half an hour. Maybe I could sense the stir in the air even then, or maybe I was just bored.

Simon muttered something that I couldn't hear, which landed him a light tap on the forehead from Dad. "Knock it off."

Neither of us were happy there, I guess. The crowd was swelling on either side of the street like cattle. Straight down the middle was clear, except when someone crossed to the other side. Thinking about it now reminds me of rats in a cage. That's all they were, even then. All we were.

Then suddenly, the ground lit up with a small patch of green glow near my feet. When I looked to the sky, I could see the very last sparks of the firework disappearing into ash, and the stinging smell of lighter fluid dampened the air. Another one went off quickly after, this one blue, followed by another green one. The crowd ignited like the end of a matchstick, cheering so loud they hurt my ears. At the time, I didn't understand what all the excitement was about. Weren't election ceremonies supposed to be boring and political?

I had no idea that the ambassador was already working her magic, even before casting the spell that entrapped us all.

The parade went on festively. It was exactly what you'd expect: lively music pouring out from speakers set up just for the occasion, floats coming out from the governor's gates, the occasional animal or banner... there were fire dancers, too, twirling rods with the ends set ablaze while their bodies popped and rolled in and out of the music. Three of them were boys, all of them barefoot and wearing outfits primarily fastened with belts, ribbons and zippers. They did not seem restricted by their clothing at all, and of course nothing hung loose. The one girl had a long lighter. She flicked it on and breathed the little flame into her mouth, letting out a long, explosive stream of fire. I was captivated watching her face light up with flickering orange. Something about it just seemed beautiful.

I remember feeling upset that the people on the floats didn't throw candy. Instead, they threw confetti. "Freaking jerks," I mumbled, "You can't eat paper."

"You can," Simon told me.

"Maybe, but it wouldn't taste very good..."

After a few more floats, sporting symbols for the police station, the civic center and the hospital, the parade all but disappeared down the street. It seemed as though we'd reached the end of it, and I was expecting Mom to dismiss us back to the car, but nobody said anything. A few more fireworks went off, and then all of the street fell quiet. I looked up to Simon, but his eyes were cemented to the sky. He had a fixation for the bright explosives, even before they spoke to him.

I decided to keep quiet.

Suddenly the music started up again, this time a bit more grim and less celebratory. I think there was a cello, a tambourine, it sounded very traditional. For what tradition, though, I'm unsure.

There was a sudden tremor in the crowd as a new float appeared, much larger and more elegant than the formers. Black silk fell from the sides so that you couldn't see the wheels, and it was being pulled by two white horses, like a carriage. The screaming could have made my ear drums bleed. Adults, I remember thinking, could really be adults when they wanted to.

As the float drew near, Mom placed her hands on my shoulders and stood directly behind me. "Pay attention, Sydney," she told me. "You're watching history in the making."

Surprisingly enough, the contraption stopped in front of us. There were two people atop this float, a man and a woman sitting side by side in elegant chairs. The man I knew very well. His name was governor Dollet, the head of the city. Dollet was like the president of Endsville. He was the head honcho in the friendly democracy we'd created. For the most part, I thought he was a cool guy. I didn't really pay attention to politics, but he came to my elementary school one time and gave a motivational speech about why we should get good grades. Even though he always appeared in the same gray suit with the ugly, red tie, I always loaned an ear to what he had to say.

The woman, though? I didn't know her. She was wearing a mask that started at the back of her neck and came all the way down over her ears, eyes and nose, but didn't hide her mouth. The mask looked like the beak of a sinister bird. A black, linen dress lined her body and fell all the way past her ankles, but if you looked close enough you could see her legs through the fabric. If she'd sprouted wings and flown off, I probably wouldn't have been surprised.

Something just didn't feel right, though. Looking at her made my stomach churn.

Dollet stood from his chair and approached the ledge of the float. There was a microphone stand waiting for him. He gave us a smile and signaled for the people who were still yelling to quiet down, and they did. I wrinkled my nose. He was wearing that stupid tie.

"Good evening," Dollet began. His voice carried from the microphone and into the speakers, but we were standing so close that the sound from the speakers was like an overbearing echo of his actual voice. "Thank you all for coming here tonight. I suppose I should start off by saying..."

Simon seemed just as tense as I was. He was staring past Dollet giving his speech, watching the woman's every move. I could see her reflection in his dark pupils. When I traced his gaze back up to her, I noticed she was looking down at us directly. My throat seized and I turned my attention elsewhere, but Simon wasn't afraid. Simon had never been afraid. He glared intently, and her lips curled into a simple smile.

A few more droning words from Dollet, and I finally tuned in again.

"...And so it is with great pleasure that I present to you, your new city ambassador, the lovely Miss Edea Kramer."

Another applause broke out as the woman in the chair stood. The way she walked to the microphone made it seem as though she were gliding, even though I could hear her heels hitting the wood below the silk cover. Simon watched her closely, while I kept my head down. She stood there in silence and waited for the clapping to die down.

Then, without warning, she spoke.

"This city... reeks... of sulfur..."

Mom's grip on my shoulders tightened again. It hurt, but I was too afraid of getting into trouble to move. I was frozen in her grasp. The woman, Edea Kramer, continued on with her words, oblivious to my parental plight.

"Since time immemorial, we witches have lived within illusion," she said, her voice whispery and young. "The foolish fantasy you produced. Adorning their bodies in dreadful costumes, the witches who curse victorious humans by means of cruel rituals. The terrible witches who burn your green fields and freeze your warm homes. You're all... so... worthless..."

This was where I finally had the courage to look up. Simon beheld me with contemplation. I shrugged. We looked around to see what everyone else thought, but among us we seemed to be the only ones that weren't staring up at Edea. All of the adults wore the same, absent expression. The witch was casting her spell. They were being hypnotized.

"What's going on?" I asked Simon.

He shook his head. "I don't-"

"Shhh!" someone hissed.

Edea's face was shadowed. I couldn't see her expression as she spoke up again. "Now that the witch from the illusion has come to be seen as a friend to Endsville." She paused, and a noise erupted from her throat. A laugh. I kid you not, she was laughing. Her arms extended upward and glided towards the sky as she stretched up her neck. I imagined her taking flight. "Who is dreaming fantasy after fantasy?"

Just then, bursting through the quiet, a breeze blew through the streets, and with it came a sound like none other I'd ever heard before. It was faint, but I could hear whispering. Thousands upon thousands of tiny voices whispering indistinctly. It curdled my blood, made my spine snap straight, and goosebumps migrated all over my arms. I turned a bit and looked to see what was making the noise, but there was nothing. Simon, however, had a hand to his ear. He was looking, wide eyed, at the street.

"You hear it too?" I asked.

"Shhh!" Mom bent down and moved her hands to my forearms, shaking me a bit. "If I have to tell you to be quiet one more time," she snapped into my ear, too quiet for spectators to hear, "you will be grounded from everything until we get home until further notice. Do you understand me?" No, I didn't understand her. Didn't she hear that noise? I'd never seen my mother act that way before. She'd gotten mad at us kids before, sure, but she'd never held me that tight. I'd never felt afraid to cross her before that moment.

The whispering died down for a second, and then rose again with the wind. Louder this time. Forceful, like it was demanding something of me. Simon and I caught each other's eye, and he just nodded, his expression unreadable. It was both a relief and a fright to know I wasn't the only one. If I wasn't imagining it, what in the world was it?

"Edea? Just what-?" The only reason I could hear Dollet's voice was because we were so close. This much never made it to the microphone. "Ede...!"

I looked up at exactly the wrong time.

Edea wasn't facing us. She was looking over at Dollet. Her arm rose again, advancing outward towards the clearly disturbed governor. It happened so fast, I wasn't sure what I'd seen at first; her gloved fingers, or rather her fingernails, stretched at a breakneck speed to inhuman lengths and pierced through Dollet's clothes, reappearing out of his back. I barely realized what was happening before the blood reached me. I closed my eyes and flinched, but it didn't keep the red liquid from spraying on my face. My lips parted and I swallowed a scream. Luckily, I only caught wind of the blood. Most of it lay splattered on the ground in front of us. I tried to step back, away from it, but my mother held me in my place.

The sound was back, the whispering, so loud that I could feel the vibrations in my eyes. I couldn't understand it, though. All I could think of was the governor.

"Reality," Edea continued, her voice passionate, "is not all gentle. There is nothing in your future, but this."

Her hand ripped back, and so did her nails. Dollet fell from the float and to the ground, his head hitting first. The mercy of whatever higher power witnessed the scene must have been with me, because I couldn't see his face, just the blood pooling beneath him. I could only assume, at that point, that he was dead.

The crowd cheered, called Edea's name, and threw slanders I was too young to understand towards Dollet's limp body. I felt like throwing up. At the time, I hated them all. Now, I'm not sure they had much of a choice.

Simon stepped in front of me and tugged me away from my mother, pushing my face into his shirt to prevent me from seeing more.

Edea had to yell in order to be heard. "Escape into your own fantasies!" she cried, lifting up her arms. There were tiny shreds of skin on the ends of her gloves. She flicked her wrist to the opposite end of the street, thank god, and I watched from my brother's arms with horror as the pieces fell into the crowd. People were grabbing at the air to try and catch them, as if they were T-shirts or, even worse, pieces of candy. "I shall continue to dance for your world of illusions! I shall dance for eternity as the witch who brings you dread!"

Edea reached for the back of her neck, and the sharp clamp that fastened the mask to her face was released. She lifted it from her head, and for the first time, I saw her face. Her cheekbones were high and white, her skin stained with purple markings that matched her lipstick. They almost looked like veins. Her eyes were the worst part, though. Gold. No, not light brown, not gold in a certain light. I'm talking gold.

"You and I. Together, we shall condense all ugliness to beauty, all fantasy to reality, and we will condense this city into a holy empire! Together we shall create a Sea of Heart! Within are life and sweet dreams to the good! Death to the wicked!"

Before Edea could even finish, I was a babbling mess. My face contorted and I could feel the tears going into free fall on my cheeks. My knees were about to buckle when I felt my feet leave the ground. Simon had picked me up, carrying me like I was a little girl again. Which, at that point, I might as well have been. He held the back of my head with one hand, making sure I wouldn't look up again, and used the other to support me. I wrapped my arms around his neck and cried. Hard.

He said something to Mom, who dismissed him, and then we were moving through the sea of jumping, sweating bodies.

"The witch travels toward the eternal illusion! The witch and Endsville, on to eternity!"

"Fuck her," Simon whispered when we were out of parental earshot. "Just fuck her."

I took a quick break from my crying and hiccuped in order to ask, "What's going on, Simon? What's going on?"

He sat me down in the back seat of the car and rocked me back and forth, slowly. I'm not sure I remember what I was feeling, not all the way. All I knew was that it hurt, and that I wanted it to stop. Even still, Simon was just as scared as I was, even if I didn't want to admit it at the time. I could hear his heartbeat the way he was holding me, and it amazed me that he was still able to sit there and try so hard to calm me down. But... that's just Simon, I guess. He was my hero.

What would I have done back there if it weren't for him? Would I have fainted?

No, I might have just died right then and there with our wonderful governor. It might have saved us all a lot of trouble.

Dollet was dead.

* * *

Simon and I were put to bed later, and Mom and Dad were sickeningly calm. Humored, even. It was as if they didn't see the blood on my face, even as Simon helped me wash it off at the sink. Or perhaps they chose not to.

I ended up sleeping in Simon's bed that night, and he didn't mind that I asked to sleep with the light on. He stroked my hair while he waited for me to fall asleep. For a while, all I could do was sob, thinking about the governor. Finally, though, after some time had passed, Simon encouraged me to think of the fire dancers.

"Weren't they cool?" he asked. "I'll be you could do something like that some day. You want to be a dancer, don't you?"

This made me smile. That night I had a dream that I was one of them, in a traveling circus, playing with fire as though it were my pet.

It was the whispering noise that put me to sleep, but by that point, I was far too tired to bring it up to Simon.

* * *

_"So that was when this all started."  
__"I won't forget it, ever, as long as I live."_

_"Things went quiet for a while, though. She was really slow about everything."_  
_"Well, yeah, it's been, what? Two years?"_

_"I didn't even hear the fire again for a couple of months. When I did, though..."_

* * *

**V**


	5. Chapter 5

**AN:** Rewritten as of 10/11/11.

* * *

**The End - Then**

_Simon_

"Shit. Shit, shit, shit!"

"Walk it off, man."

I was at Chel's house, in his living room, pacing back and forth up the carpet in front of the television. They would know it was me, I thought. I hadn't taken any precautions. The D.C.U., the Domestic Conservation Unit, were going to come to my house and take me away, I was certain. Mom and Dad would shake their heads and ask, "Where did we go wrong?"

Just as I was about to start hyperventilating again, Chel stood from his spot on the couch. "What exactly did you damage?"

"I-I..."

"Dude." Chel dropped his heavy hands down to my shoulders. "I need you to breathe."

So I did. I breathed deeply, but the apple-scented air of Chel's home didn't solve my problem. It didn't change the fact that I had damaged local property. It didn't change that I was a vandal, an arsonist. "I-I didn't mean to! I swear! Oh god, oh god!"

I didn't want to calm down. I wanted to fix this. I wanted _Chel_ to fix it. Chel could always fix me, when he wanted to.

"Simon," he repeated, enunciating my name. "Look at me." I did as I was told and looked up at his face.

Chel was a man of nineteen, and yes, I'm deliberately putting emphasis on the word "man." He was a whole head taller than me, with thick locks of hair and coffee colored eyes. It didn't matter how often he shaved, he always had a little stubble on his cheeks. "Tell me what happened."

So we sat down, and I began to talk.

* * *

I had found the eviction notice a few hours before and had stomped out of the house. I hadn't grabbed anything, so I wasn't running away, just walking. Walking too quick. I couldn't see the world pass me by. It was all a blur.

I caught a glimpse of green. That might have been grass. Pink. Maybe a rose bush. _No, not possible,_ I thought. I hadn't seen a rose bush in weeks. Not since the construction project started.

There was nobody else out. It was past curfew, and since I was only seventeen then, if I was caught by someone from the Domestic Conservation Unit, I knew I was dead meat. They were Edea's army. She'd been recruiting members for a few months, ever since she'd filled governor Dollet's shoes. Everyone was calling her the "empress" by then.

"Didn't anyone stand up on Dollet's behalf?" you must be wondering. Well, if you'd taken a look around the city back then, you'd know that this was a stupid question. Something was wrong with the adults. None of them even flinched when Dollet was tossed off the parade float like a piece of trash. Instead, they cheered, like it was scripted. Expected. His corpse was nothing more than a party favor.

While walking, I passed by a cafe and almost stopped for a drink, but it was here that I was reminded of my estate, or rather the lack thereof. My whole family was poor. The new taxes – on everything, I might add: milk, honey, leather, wheat, cotton, the list goes on – had robbed our household in order to fund the Harboring Act, which had thrown my Dad's business out the economic window. The Harboring Act is a law that Edea had invented, in which documented citizens needed a special green card in order to leave the city. It seemed as though only people with connections to Edea herself could afford this pass, and since they were so few and far between, no one was coming in to Dad's gummi ship repair shop, because nobody used their ships.

The rich could afford coffee. We could barely keep the water bill afloat. I was probably going to have to quit high school and get a part-time job, which didn't seem like that big of a deal anymore. Edea had cranked up the graduation requirements in order to shape those with drive into bloodthirsty politicians, and even with summer school I'd still have to stay an extra year to earn my diploma.

But that was the thing. I didn't want to drop out, I didn't want my Dad's company to go out of business, and I didn't want to get evicted. Was I really such a spoiled brat when I asked to be content with my life? Was it really so fucking hard to strive towards a happy future?

Apparently so.

I had been keeping Chel's plastic lighter in my pocket as a sort of way to keep him with me. I'd stolen it from him at lunch one day and "forgotten" to give it back, until finally he stopped asking about it. Why I took it in the first place, I may never know; I'd quit smoking two months before because Sydney had been getting emotional about my health.

Which I guess was to be expected. Sydney was all over the place in those days. She was getting bothered by the little things, like my smoking, and avoiding the bigger issues, like the brochures coming in our mail about the new military academy Edea was building. The smoking thing itself wasn't much of an issue – it was starting to become an expensive habit anyway – but out of the blue, a fear of the dark burst forth in my once brave, bold little sister. For two weeks after Dollet's murder, she slept in my bed. She'd even asked me if I could secretly buy her a night light, because Mom and Dad wouldn't let her sleep with the lights on. I would've done it, but I didn't have the money.

A dog barked somewhere in the distance. I stopped in front of an alley, realizing I'd walked a good two and a half miles by then. Chel's house was a few more blocks down the road. I thought to myself, I ought to keep going, but my feet didn't move, and my eyes slid to the space between the two nearby buildings. The alley was long and thin, going so far it disappeared into black shadows before I could see the end. I took a step into the dark. The air was damp and reeked of trash.

I grabbed the lighter and pulled it out of my pocket, spinning it in my fingers. It clicked when I flicked it on, the little flame dancing before my eyes and illuminating a few feet in front of me. There were two large, metal boxes meant for holding discarded waste, but they didn't do their job very well. There was garbage all over the ground.

Suddenly, something brushed against my ears. It was the same sound I had heard back at the parade. For a while, it had been silent, but two weeks ago it started back up again, whenever I lit a lighter or struck a match. The bigger the fire, the louder it became. I'd asked Mom and Dad about it, and my teachers, my guidance counselor at school; they all told me I had a migraine, but Sydney and Zane could hear it too. That's what they told me, anyway.

Thinking very hard about nothing in particular, I approached one of the large garbage cans, lighter still blazing. The little flame touched a newspaper sticking out of the one closest to me, and within seconds, the paper disappeared, caught up in an even brighter flurry of orange. The fire spread, but snuffed itself out a few seconds later. So I set something else on fire, a discarded towel soaked with garbage juice, and tossed it into the mass.

This was when I first realized it was a pleasure to burn. It was a pleasure to see things blackened, eaten, changed. With the plastic lighter in my hand, and with this great sound roaring in my ears, the blood was pounding through me. My hands were those of some amazing conductor playing all the symphonies of blazing and burning to reduce the litter to ash. The air stank with the smell of cooking scraps, and the smoke repelling it came out pure black, but I was too lost to care. I set more debris on fire and strode in a swarm of fireflies. The alley went up in sparkling whirls and blew away the Simon I once knew with a wind black with burning.

I grinned.

The noise, the whispering, was much louder then. Taking in a deep breath, I stretched out my arms and leaned my head back. "I can hear you," I whispered to the fire. To my pleasant surprise, it whispered back in a language I'd never heard before, yet understood completely.

It was gentle at first, but suddenly became too abrupt, too quick. I snapped back to reality and realized what I was doing just as someone's window curtains caught ablaze. The lighter slid from my sweating fingers and hit the concrete. A woman screamed.

Oh, shit! What the heck had I done? I'd set an alley on fire, and it was SPREADING!

The D.C.U. would be there any second, and I was just standing there with my thumb up my butt. I'd committed arson. If I was caught, god knew what would happen to me.

Knowing what I know now, they probably would have put me in juvy for a while, then sent me to the Home of Corrective Detention, but it wasn't built yet back then. Either way, I bolted, and I'm damn glad that I did.

Just as I was taking off down the street, however, I slid to a stop, turning back and scraping up the lighter from the ground. I'm glad I caught it, because if I'd left it behind, they would've had my fingerprints. Everything else was bound to burn away, and it probably did.

At the time, I was scolding myself for being so stupid, but it wasn't like I'd known that I was going to set something on fire, let alone a freaking apartment buidling.

Calm down, Simon. Just run. Don't think, just run.

My mind was racing, and I could feel my heartbeat in my feet. The sirens were drawing close. I sprinted up the steps to Chel's house and pounded on the door.

* * *

Chel's big, brown eyes were staring up at me. "You seriously set an apartment on fire?"

"One apartment!" I told him. Couldn't he see I was freaking out? I could tell he was pissed. I was a criminal, and he was harboring me. At the time I was certain he would tell me to leave. I bit down on the inside of my cheek and waited to be kicked out, but it never happened.

Instead, Chel sat back on the couch and passed a hand over his tired eyes. "Man, Simon," he breathed, "I knew you were pissed off, but..." He smiled, and for a second I could've sworn he was laughing, very lightly. "Don't look at me like that. I'm not going to tell anyone. Actually, I think it's kind of cool."

Cool? It was cool to wreck city property?

Another chuckle, then a smirk. "The Empress is going to be pissed."

When I thought of it that way, my pride trumped over my guilt. That's right. Edea would be pissed, and it would be my personal doing.

Growing tired from my six-block sprint, I sat down next to Chel and cupped my face in my hands for a second, letting myself breathe. Chel didn't talk. If he had, I probably would have hit him. Still, it helped having him there. I couldn't imagine anyone else being so understanding. He was beautiful.

"How was it?"

I opened one eye. "Huh?"

"When you were burning. How was it?"

I had to pause to think about it. The feeling was almost impossible to describe. "Amazing," just didn't cover it. "Better than an orgasm."

Chel shook his head and clapped me on the back. "I just might have to try it sometime."

* * *

"_You seriously used _my _lighter that night? The red one?"  
__"Well, yeah..."  
__"Shit, I was wondering where it went! How long did you even have it?"  
__"Couple months, I guess."  
__"Little asshole."_

* * *

**http : / / null-tongues . tumblr . com  
****  
V**


	6. Chapter 6

**AN:** Rewritten as of 10/13/11

* * *

**The End – Then**

_Sydney_

None of us really expected what happened next, yet somehow I feel it might have been inevitable. Unavoidable. If it hadn't happened, I wouldn't be where I am now.

I'd known for a while that Mom was a drinker, even though she usually tried really hard to hide it. That night, it was particularly bad. She and Dad had just gotten into a heated argument over the shop finally being closed for good. We were broke. No more skateboards, no new pants, no more dinner outings, nothing.

"What are you expecting us to do, Tristan?" Mom was screaming. "I can't fucking go back to work!"

"You're probably going to have to," Dad countered. "Why don't you just get a telecommuting job if it's so hard to get out of the house?"

"I don't sit around."

"How much have you had to drink tonight?"

Well, it wasn't really a house. We had to move out of the suburban house next door to Zane and into the cramped, two bedroom apartment in the city. Simon and I shared a room, which I hated, but put up with anyway. He wasn't back from hanging out with Chel when it happened, but I remember wishing he had been. Sitting up on my bed, I curled up into my Tinkerbell bedsheets and pretended that I was waiting for Peter Pan to come rescue me; that we'd go find my brother and Zane, and we'd all go to Neverland for a little while. Just until things calmed down.

Dad sighed. "Did you even feed the kids today?"

"Simon isn't home."

"Sydney?"

_Oh god, please don't drag me into this._

I heard thudding noises from Mom stumbling. "She prob'ly ate at the ginger's place. Spends more time over there than she does with her own fam'ly."

I was feeling a little sick. Hearing Mom and Dad argue always gave me tummy aches. To stifle the noise, I rolled over and tugged my brother's pocket radio out of the night stand, sure that he wouldn't mind if I used it. I put the head phones on over my ears and tried tuning in to a news broadcast.

"..._with twenty four arrests total. It seems to me that pretty soon here, peaceful protests against these new 'anti-fire' laws are gonna be outlawed all together._ _I'd recommend smoking all your cigarettes and throwin' out the candles before someone storms you for possession_." Like a drug chain, or something. "_And for our last news of interest today, our lovely-lady-Empress, Edea Kramer..."_ Spoken with a great deal of sarcasm._ "...just signed for her newest apprentice earlier this afternooon._" No surprise there. This made three in the past month. The girls at my school were disappearing like plucked bon-bons in the Empress's pantry. "_One of the first omegas to serve at the Home of Corrective Detention, apparently nineteen year old Alma..._" I forget her last name. "_...Will be starting her training under supervisor..._" I didn't catch that person's name either. "_...on Monday. More to come on that story next week. For now, I'm..." _I even forget the broadcaster's name._ "...And you heard here it first: 101.5, ETZ. It's kind of quiet tonight, but the numbers are the same as always._"

Mom's muffled screaming suddenly became frantic and far more slurred. I heard more stomping. Then the yelling became more and more distant, and I sensed they were going outside, to the balcony.

A few more seconds of muffled yelling, and then things became deathly quiet. Just as I was starting to drift, laboring under the delusion that my parents had called it quits, the bedroom door flew open. Certain that I was in trouble for something, I sat up and scooted far back on the bed until my back touched the headboard. Dad stood in the doorway, nothing more than a silhouette to my squinting eyes.

"Sydney, Mommy had a little accident. We're going to the hospital to make sure she's okay. Okay?"

"What happened?"

But I knew what happened before he told me. In her drunken stupor, Mom had twisted and tripped herself over the balcony rail. Somehow, sitting by her hospital bed watching her chest go up and down couldn't bring me to feel sympathy. I don't know. Ever since the parade, there had always been an empty void between me and my parents.

A police officer showed up a little while later to ask Dad some questions. I didn't understand it then, but the initial idea was that Dad had pushed Mom during the argument. Simon had to explain it to me, and then keep me from running after the officer to tell him that it was a lie. My Daddy wasn't a bad man. He would never push my Mommy. They loved each other. Even though they fought sometimes because things were getting hard, they loved each other.

"I think you should come burn with me tonight," Simon said, kneeling down in front of me in the waiting room. "It'll help you feel better."

"But it's against the law," I croaked through my sniffles and sobs.

He touched his hands to my face and wiped my tears with his thumbs. "Arson has always been against the law. Things are just a little more uptight now."

Simon was making a game out of these new bans you were seeing all over the news, and at the time I was scared for him.

"Come on," he prodded. "It'll make you feel better."

"I can't. I have school tomorrow."

"If Dad asks, just tell him you're too struck with grief to do math."

"Will that really work?"

"It might. If you make a cute face. Like this."

Before I could react, Simon's fingers were already digging into my sides. I giggled against my will, trying to thrash and step away to escape his tickling, but he was already after me.

"Yeah, that face!" he exclaimed.

* * *

After picking up Chel Rosenburg – and I was proud to say that yes, I was in the same car as Chel freaking Rosenburg – we took in the peculiar arrangement of the buildings in Endsville. Everyone was moving into the city at the very center o town, so the suburbs were brown and desolate, smelling like tires, crawling with the homeless.

Looking out the window, I caught a familiar face. Mara stood bare footed with an infant clutched to her breast. (The last time I saw her, she said she had a little sister "on the way.") There was dirt on her face, and her clothes were torn, yet somehow she still managed to look beautiful. She was speaking to someone, a man, and she didn't notice us driving by.

It's amazing how quickly things fell apart. I was certain that sooner or later, I'd be at Mara's side.

"They're just like us, you know," Simon murmured, his grip on the steering wheel tightening. "Those kids. They can hear the fire, too."

I flinched. We didn't talk about hearing the fire very often. The adults thought we were hallucinating. Up in the passenger's seat, Chel struck a match and used it to light a cigarette. He didn't roll down the window.

"Should you be lighting that? They're expensive." And illegal.

"It's just one," Chel replied. "We're kind of like patriots."

Simon didn't look at him. "How so?"

"Burning down the establishment. Standing against oppression."

"Most patriots die, though."

I held my breath, too busy trying to block out the smell of Chel's cigarette to bask in his presence. He let out a long line of smoke before speaking again. I watched it curl along the ceiling and hoped it would keep away from me.

"I think I'd rather be sold to cannibals than continue living under that bitch," he said. He didn't even have to say her name. We all knew who he was talking about. He twisted in his seat and looked back at me. I brought my hand down from my nose and morphed into cool Sydney. "You, me and your brother kiddo. We're gonna start a war."

"With fire?"

"With fire. To the patriots."

He took a long drag, then handed it off to Simon, who did the same. "The patriots."

I was in cool mode, so when the cigarette came my way, I took it into my fingers and stared at it for a second. It was stinky, I didn't want it, but Chel Rosenburg was expecting me to. The end became a long line before I finally wrapped my lips around it. There was a little spit left over from one of the two boys in the front seat, but thinking about swapping spit with Chel didn't stop my throat from burning. I didn't even get in a full breath before I was choking, throwing the disgusting stick back up to the front.

Chel laughed at me, then put it out in an ash tray. I rolled down my window and wished that I had a bottle of water.

* * *

"_Well, when you put it that way, I feel bad about it now."  
"You should! It's your fault she even started smoking to begin with."_

"_While we're on the topic of me, I guess I'll cue you guys in on my earliest memory of all this. For me, life changed at the Home..."_

* * *

**http : / / null-tongues . tumblr . com  
V**


	7. Chapter 7

**AN: **Rewritten.

* * *

**The End – Then**

_Chel_

I don't have much to be proud of.

I was burning, but I wouldn't be for long. Pops always supported the Empress's cause. He would attend the parenting seminars and go to town hall meetings just to get a glimpse of her face, and one day he came home and demanded that I start packing. I had no warning.

"You're being drafted," the burly man said.

"Where?" I asked.

"The Home of Corrective Detention," he told me. "It's like a military academy for bad kids; the Empress just built it. Oh, ho! Don't worry! You're too old to enroll, but I got you a full time job on campus. Next week you'll start working as an Omega trainee."

I was being sent off to become a member of the Domestic Conservation Unit by my own father. Adoptive father, I remembered.

"Close your mouth, Chel, you'll swallow a fly."

The punch line never came.

So there I stood, waiting at the gates of the Home of Corrective Detention, or simply "the Home" as everyone called it. Even though I was surrounded by young men my age – some faces new, others old – I felt alone. I didn't bother dropping by to say goodbye to Simon or Sydney before heading over in my truck. There was no point in making a scene.

We were greeted by a drill sergeant and two smaller men in black uniforms wielding hickory batons.

"Form groups of five and line up," they shouted. "Faster!"

We hustled into short rows. Anyone who stepped out of line was whacked.

They tore our belongings from our hands and tossed them into a pile on the grass. Some fought for the right to carry their stuff inside, but I didn't bother. All I had in my suitcase was my clothes. Well, that and a playboy.

In my group I came across a familiar face, a young man much smaller than I with dark hair and thick-rimmed glasses. His full name was James-Madison Leary, but everyone that knew him from school called him J-M. He offered me a daring smile, despite the tension.

"Fancy seeing you here, Rosenburg," he whispered. "What're you in for?"

"Dad's a nationalist."

"Ah..."

"You?"

"I got caught drawing with charcoal, so Mom thought I was burning stuff."

"You're kidding."

"Nope. I was too old to be enrolled, so she thought enlisting me as an officer would- well, you know..."

"Yeah," I sighed. "I know."

One of the baton wielders stepped in front of me, clipboard in hand. "Your name?" he inquired.

"Chel Rosenburg."

I watched him write it down. He spelled it S-H-E-L-L. Fuck. "Age?"

"Nineteen. About to turn twenty."

The man looked at me with only his eyes from behind a pair of tinted sunglasses. "No. You're eighteen."

"I'm not."

"Moron! Do you hear me? Listen to what _I _say, or she won't want you!" He scribbled something else down and moved to J-M before I could correct him again. "Name?"

"James Leary."

"Age?"

"Twenty, sir."

"No, nineteen. You just turned nineteen."

We exchanged glances.

After roll call, we were brought through the iron gates. The outside of the Home was more like a wild woodland than a garden.

More waiting. There were a couple of buildings on the grounds, this one labeled CAFETORIUM in big, black letters, but they all looked just as uninviting as the front gate. The white, plaster walls were a bit too clean for my taste.

At that time, there weren't any students on the grounds, either, just Omega trainees. Things were just starting out. I was in one of the first batches.

There was a man waiting for us by the front door. A doctor. He looked like the typical D.C.U. officer, with a cruel (though not unintelligent) face. He held a conductor's baton, and moved it constantly. Sometimes to the right, sometimes to the left.

In no time, I stood before him.

"Your age?" he asked, perhaps trying to sound paternal.

"I'm eighteen."

"In good health?"

"Yes."

"Your profession?"

"Psychology," I heard myself saying. Better than arson.

"Any history with fire?"

"No."

Would anyone dare to say otherwise?

This conversation lasted no more than a few seconds, though it felt like an eternity.

The baton pointed to the left. I took a half step forward. I first wanted to see where they would send J-M. The baton, once more, moved to the left. I was satisfied. Before we graduated, I'd always gotten along rather well with J-M. Our procession continued slowly to move forward.

Another D.C.U. officer came over to us.

"Happy?"

"Yes," someone answered.

"Pity. This route leads to the theater."

"The theater? What happens at the theater?"

A pause, then a smirk. He seemed to be telling the truth. Not far from us, huge flames were rising from a chimney. Something was being burned in there, something foul. Admittedly... I was never like Sydney, Simon and Zane. I could never hear the fire, for some reason, but right then and there, I thought I had. It was screaming, sobbing, crying with the musical voice of a woman.

We continued our march. We were coming closer and closer to the theater, a building all its own, a bit smaller than the others. The door was open, inviting us in. I quickly realized that it wasn't any fire's screaming I was hearing, it was a real person. Two steps from the door, and we were ordered to keep marching.

Among us was an immediate air of relief, although we still had to pass by the open doors. There were people all dressed in white flooding the seats, heads facing forward. On the main stage, there stood a carefully executed bundle of sticks, as well as a girl tied to a stake with barbed wire. She was bleeding from struggling with her binds. The bundle had already caught aflame by the time my eyes reached the scene. There were two D.C.U. officers on stage to make sure it didn't spread out of control. The girl's screaming did not cease, and I forced myself to watch for a split second as the flames crept up the fabric of her dress.

Flesh. That was what smelled so bad. Burning flesh.

"WE BURN THIS PROSTITUTE! WE VANQUISH EVIL!" someone shouted from inside. "PRAISE THE EMPRESS FOR OUR CLARITY!"

"I know that girl," J-M whispered. "Her name is Mara. She burned down her house when her Mom had another baby. I guess she got involved with a pimp..."

And just like that, I put up my wall. I willed myself not to feel J-M's hand squeezing my arm, or anything at all really. My face hardened, and I indulged in the sleeping pills they gave us to chase away Mara's screaming while I slept. No more fire play. No more dreams for Chel Rosenburg.

Just my goal. The Empress. The patriots.

* * *

"_Was that when you guys decided to make the patriots a real thing?"  
_"_For Chel, maybe, but I didn't really start thinking about it until we fell into debt."_

* * *

**V**


	8. Chapter 8

**AN: **Rewritten as of 10/13/11. Y'know, Mr. Stine kind of reminds me of President Shinra (senior). Huh.

* * *

**The End – Then**

_Simon_

Chel was gone, and that was all I knew.

I had thought about going out to burn that night, but I cleaned my room instead. Ran a vacuum through it, made my bed, made Sydney's bed, dusted the empty bookshelf. We used it to stack our homework, and that was about it. Sydney didn't read much because she was always at Zane's house. I didn't read because I was too lazy. Mom loved to make that clear.

According to her, I never did anything around the house except devour Dad's paycheck. This much, she said from her spot on the couch. By that point, one night, she'd already hit me. There was already blood on my nose. The argument started because I couldn't find her car keys.

So to prove her wrong, I cleaned my room, which of course meant admitting defeat.

My phone buzzed, so I rolled over on my bed and flipped it open. Another text from Gwen.

_Missing u_.

That was enough to irritate the hell out of me. We'd had sex one time (while under the intoxicating, dizzying influence of a candle, I might add), and it was all she could do to send me hearts in her text messages. I really just wanted her to stop texting me all together.

"Would you get off that thing already?"

Sydney's voice snapped me out of my thoughts. I carelessly let the phone fall to the night stand, not bothering to reply to Gwen's two-word love note. "It's not me," I told my little sister, "It's Guinevere."

"Just delete her from your contacts."

"She'll still have my number even if I delete hers."

I glanced over just in time to see Sydney firing up that pout of hers. My favorite one: the one where her bottom lip goes all crooked and she pinches up her little pixie nose. Adorable. "Dad should have gotten me a phone," she mumbled bitterly.

"He bought you a skateboard," I replied. "Go use it."

"I don't want to skateboard anymore. I want to dance."

"So dance."

The apartment wasn't very big, so sound traveled and echoed three times over. We could hear the banging on the front door, even though the bedroom door was shut. After a pause, I stood up and cracked the door open.

There was a familiar face staring back at me from across the living room. Mr. Stine - superintendent of the school board and, at the time, the Empress's star gofer – was a short, chubby man with a belly that spilled over his belt and a mustache that covered his bulging, pink lips. He was in the middle of a conversation with my father by the time I emerged, Sydney at my heels.

"Please," Dad pressed, "I just need a little more time..."

"I'm afraid the Empress's patience has already expired." Mr. Stine straightened his posture and his beige tie all in one awkward movement. I wouldn't be surprised if it turned out he'd had back problems because of his weight. "Collections must be made. Punctuality is reliability, that's my motto."

If you haven't already figured it out, Mr. Stine's money – and by extension, the Empress's – had paid for my mother's hospital bills after her accident. It had also paid for my new cell phone and Sydney's skateboard and a stereo for the family car.

Dad had plummeted. I'd never seen him hang his head so low.

"Try to understand... I have a family to feed."

"Which is exactly why I am here, Mr. Gunner," Stine enunciated. He cleared his throat and licked his lips, his tongue running just along the roof of his lip fur, like a maggot tunneling out of a fuzzy animal carcass. "If you can't support your children, you have no place raising them. That's my motto."

I felt a hard thud in my chest. He was there to seize custody of us. So I thought, anyway. Glaring, I made a side step to shield my sister from his view, but his icy gaze pierced right through me.

Dad beckoned us over with a wave of his hand. "Come here, guys."

"Just the girl."

My throat went dry. "I'm coming with," I demanded. There was no way I was letting some fat ass money grubber snatch up my little sister like a meal. She was my world.

The round man huffed. "The Home of Corrective Detention has no place for drop outs, Mr. Gunner. Why don't you get a job and help your father pay off his debt?" He smiled a wicked smile. I could have choked him. "You could always enlist into the Omegas."

"I'm not becoming a D.C.U."

Which only seemed to amuse him more. "Pity. We could use strapping young men like yourself." For what, exactly? "With a little discipline, you could be a fine soldier. Grip the day, beat the child. That's my motto."

I didn't like the sound of that. Sydney's hands gripped at my shirt as Mr. Stine crossed the room. He reached for her, but I stepped between them, throwing my arms out.

"Leave her alone!"

"Simon," Dad coached, "step aside."

"But-!"

"We'll still see her on the weekends. Isn't that right, Mr. Stine?"

The man turned up his nose. "At the home? Of course."

But I wasn't convinced. It wasn't enough just to see my sister on the weekends. In fact, that sounded like a load of horse shit to me. Dad eventually had to step in and hold me by the arms, kicking and screaming, while the kidnapper took my sister by the shoulders and guided her out the door. On the way out, I caught her looking at me, pleadingly, but there was nothing I could do.

Seconds later, the front door was shut, and I was left alone with my father. He held me down for another few minutes, and by the time I finally managed to get free and run outside, Mr. Stine's car was gone. Sydney was gone. I remember turning to Dad and yelling at him, but I honestly don't remember most of what I was saying. A blind fury had possessed me, and all I wanted to do was burn down the entire apartment.

I have no idea where my mother was during this ordeal. She didn't show any sort of concern until later that night, when she thought I was asleep.

"You lost my daughter? My _only _daughter? I thought you said you were going to start bringing in money!"

Smack.

* * *

"_So wait, did your Dad hit your Mom, or...?"  
"No, she hit him."  
"Egh... that's brutal..."_

_"I don't see why it matters. You shouldn't ever lay hands on your spouse, boy or girl."  
"Maybe. If some woman hit me, I'd-"  
"...Just shut up, Chel."_

* * *

**V**


	9. Chapter 9

**AN:** Rewritten as of 10/15/11.

* * *

**The End – Then**

_Sydney_

Back in class after one of my daily sit downs with the on-site psychologist, and all kinds of doped up on my anxiety meds (which is fancy talk for "that stuff I didn't take, except I took it that time because the doctor was watching"), I found myself on the ground again, bent over a boxing glove on my knees. A whistle sounded, and my opponent pulled back.

The other kids in the class weren't "ooh-ing" anymore. I think they were just down with the idea of me getting my ass kicked.

Dragging myself up on the red ropes, I spit out the plastic mouthpiece guarding my teeth, a trail of spit following it all the way down to the ground.

"Gunner, get your act in gear! Block!"

Well, to be honest, blocking probably would have been easier if the boxing gloves didn't weigh twice my body mass. Or maybe if I had any reflexes at all. Ever.

Chel was there by the door, clad in his fancy, white omega uniform. Even though I knew him, even though he'd been my middle school crush, I just wanted him gone. I didn't need someone I knew by name watch me get acquainted with the floor, but especially not him.

We didn't talk in those days. No one really did. Talking got you put in a quiet-room. Talking was a means of begging to go to the theater, where bad kids went to perform and never came back. None of us students really knew what went on in there – it was strictly off limits – and since I couldn't talk to "Chel the Omega," I couldn't ask him about it.

We were all afraid of it, though, and rightfully so. The smoke that billowed out of that place was black and smelled like burning garbage. Really made outdoor physical education (and there was plenty of it) a pain in the ass.

Another blow from my opponent's boxing glove, and I felt right at home. This one sent me falling back, landing on my knees. When I picked up my head, seemingly hundreds of eyes stared back at me from the crowd, all of them absent and glossy. They'd learned to shut themselves off, as we all had. When you started feeling things, like remorse or fear, you started crying, and when you started crying, you never stopped. It was better to conserve the energy, just in case a passing omega or D.C.U. officer was having a bad day.

Those kids in the crowd were only thinking one thing: _I don't want to be next_. Who in their right mind would _want_ to step into the ring just to get hit a little extra? Guess it was just my lucky day.

_Sound the whistle. Someone please, sound the whistle_.

Nothing. Of course not. It was a good show.

"Come on," my opponent spat. "At least try to throw a punch. You're boring me."

_Well aren't you just two shades of special_?

She hit me again, spewing out words like "fag" and "cunt," super inappropriate stuff like that. Did anyone stop her? Did anyone stand up for me?

The blows just kept raining down, and then she kicked me, which I'm pretty sure is against the rules, but no one called her on it, or if they did, I didn't hear it. Chel quickly became a useless blob of white in the corner. The room was spinning. I was going to puke if this didn't let up. The pain in my nose was excruciating. Things were looking grim for me.

Then, suddenly, cutting through the muffled cries and slur words, a whisper; a sharp but delicate hiss, wrapping itself around my mind and flooding my entire body, starting at the crown of my head, filling my fingers and my abdomen. There were no words exchanged. It was as if the whisper was part of my body, an extension of me. Everything was warm.

My head hit the hard boxing mat one more time, and the onslaught of attacks finally ceased. I rolled my head and opened my eyes, and through my distorted vision, I saw a flash of orange encasing my opponent's head, almost as if someone had placed a flamethrower in front of her face.

A scream.

Someone tugged me to my feet, and my opponent was the one on the floor. The instructor was bent down in front of her, blocking her head from my view. Had someone hit her? I couldn't be sure. I had no idea what was going on.

"Someone get the Empress on radio! We've got a burner!"

I thought that maybe I should pretend to faint, but it was then that I heard Chel's frantic whispering, "Why did you do that Sydney? Why in God's name would you do that?"

* * *

The quiet-room was dark, with a bed in the corner and no windows. There was a small bathroom the size of a linen closet attached, but it had no door and no sink. Since I was handcuffed ("for my own safety," Chel insisted), I really didn't understand how they were expecting me to take a piss. My escorts locked the door behind them when they left, and as the name "quiet room" suggests, I couldn't hear anything but my own breathing.

Realistically, I guess I probably should have been scared, but the silence was actually pretty soothing. As long as that door stayed shut, I wouldn't be hit. My nose was bleeding, and I kept wiping the blood off on the knee of my white pants when it got to be too much. When the flow from my nostrils finally stopped, I laid down on the bed with my back facing the wall and my hands behind me.

Even though I slept for almost three hours, it didn't feel like it at all. Once I fell asleep, it felt like I was awoken seconds later. Chel was at my bedside, making me sit up. He put a bottle of water to my mouth.

"Drink it."

I shook my head, even though my tongue was dry and tasted like iron.

"I didn't do anything to it, Sydney. It's from a staff room. Just drink it."

Hesitantly, I parted my lips and he tipped the bottle. The water hit my tongue, and I instinctively tried chugging it, my throat burning from the taste of the blood. Every few seconds Chel would pull it back, refusing to let me drink too fast. I ended up swallowing some of it while I was breathing in, causing it to go down my windpipe and make me cough. A small amount escaped my mouth and dribbled down my chin, which I also wiped off on the knee of my pants, which was turning the color of smeared rust.

"You okay?" Chel inquired.

"I dunno."

My voice sounded a little weird, perhaps because I was dehydrated.

There was a short silence between us. The water hit my empty stomach, and I received a small streak of abdominal pain, but it was nothing compared to my headache. "What happened?" I asked.

"You set Aeria on fire."

Aeria? Was that her name? Wait…

I blinked, then looked into Chel's face, searching for deception. He was serious.

"I did not!"

"Yes, you did, Sydney. The left side of her face is all fucked up. She's in the hospital on what might be permanent leave."

"That's not possible, Chel! Search me. I don't have anything!" The panic was starting to set in. If they'd accused me of using fire, and there was actual evidence against me, well... I didn't want to think of the end result. "I swear!"

"I know," Chel said calmly. "They already searched your bed and suitcase." So it must have been his job to search my person. "I know you're clean."

My throat felt hot again, but not because I needed water. "Then how can you say I did it?"

"Because you did."

"I did not!"

I twisted, and he pulled back to avoid my kicking legs.

"Sydney, behave."

"STOP THAT!" I screamed. "Stop saying my name like we're friends! We are NOT friends!"

I don't really know what had driven me to say it. It wasn't like we had any real beef or anything. In fact, at the time I still saw him as the most gorgeous human being on the planet, never mind his new rank.

I don't know. I think it really shaped the remainder of our time together, though, and now I feel kind of bad for it.

"You don't need matches to start a fire," he said. "In fact, you don't even need a spark. Friction. Nothing."

Frustrated, I leaned back in a huff and pressed my back against the wall. "Well then, if I started a fire without any of that, what _did _I use?"

"Your limit break."

* * *

"_So, hey. Stupid question, but, did you ever hit my sister?"  
"...I think- I think I'd rather not answer that question."  
"Uh huh. Yeah. You'd better not."_

* * *

**V**


	10. Chapter 10

**AN:** Rewritten as of 10/15/11.

* * *

**The End – Then**

_Zane_

Another night, another _Simpson's_ episode, you know the drill by now.

During those first few weeks, with everyone disappearing, I don't think I could have felt worse if I'd lost my arms and legs rather than my friends and my civil rights. I had no doubt, even then, that life would never be the same. All I could think of was my misery and confusion, and I wondered day in and day out when I might see Simon or Sydney or any of my other friends that had left school again. I was worried sick for everyone.

I kept thinking about Sydney, hiding her battered face under a pillow, shuddering in the dark by herself. And what about Simon? Was he still getting into fights with his mother? Was he doing okay, finding a way to make money?

I was extremely lonely. In a sick way, I almost wished that I'd be taken away like everyone else.

Watching cartoons in the early morning, curling into the couch, waiting for Gwen to come home. Routine.

There was a knocking at the door, which startled me a bit. Had I forgotten to leave the door unlocked? Could Gwen not get in?

On the contrary, Simon looked as though he hadn't slept in a few days. There were bags under his eyes, and his hair was greasy. His fingers were riddled with pus-filled blisters, probably from burning himself.

Gorgeous.

"Hey, kiddo."

"Gwen's not here," I replied automatically.

"I know. Can I come in?"

Holy crap, he wasn't there for Gwen. I can't even begin to describe how euphoric I felt. Wide eyed, I stepped aside and let him come into the living room, draping his jacket over the end table. He took the spot where I had been sitting on the couch (which I gladly sacrificed) and stretched. Before turning my attention to him, I squinted out into the darkness of the night, double checking to make sure Gwen wasn't passed out on the lawn.

Shutting the door, I asked, "Do you want some coffee, or something?"

Simon looked surprised. "Why? Do I look tired?"

Yes. "No."

The television spewed a few cooky sound effects from the cartoon network rerun I had been watching, which was enough to make my face heat up. If I'd known that Simon had been coming over, I probably would have tuned into something a bit more "adult," like Discovery Channel.

"So nobody's home here either, huh?"

Simon reached over to the end table and felt around in his jacket pockets. He took out something which I mistook for a large lighter: his harmonica. "Guess we're one in the same. Nobody's home to let me in anymore either." He let a few notes from the brass instrument fly through the air, which I recognize as the theme song for _the Simpsons_. "Your sister is lucky to have you."

I smiled. Everyone needed their designated door-unlocker.

"Where is she?" I asked. "Was she with you tonight?"

Another jaunty note. "Who wants to know?"

"Just me. Mom doesn't think much of us these days."

"You and me both." Simon wiped a speck off the instrument in his hand. "Gwen's at the abandoned mill by the lake."

Evergrove Lake. "The one we used to play at?"

Simon nodded. "Yeah."

We both knew, though, that Gwen wasn't out there at two in the morning to play River Monster or Marco-Polo. She was probably buying cigarettes or stocking up on matches. I didn't really care, just as long as she came home safe.

I straightened my posture, standing my ground. "If she's there, why are you here?"

"I got bored."

Simon's reply sounded really rehearsed. He had something on his mind.

"Quit avoiding my question," I said, maybe a bit too loudly. "Why are you _here_?"

Simon's expression caught me off guard. I felt my chest ignite with feelings. "You never miss a beat, do you?" he asked. I wasn't sure if he was complimenting me or not, so I just looked down at my shoes, half wishing that I hadn't said anything. "I want to talk to you. But you have to promise that you won't repeat what you hear."

Everything suddenly went cold. Determined that he was going to ask me out, I had to concentrate very hard on standing flat footed, otherwise my knees would have given out. "I promise."

The sandy-haired boy stood and took hold of my arm, leaning in close and whispering, "I'm building an army to fight the Empress. I want you to be in it."

For a second, all I could do was stare at him. My heart dropped into my stomach and my hands went clammy. Oh.

"What does that have to do with how much you like redheads?"

He blinked at me. "Huh?"

"I mean, why would you want me in an army?"

It wasn't like I had much physical prowess or anything. Sure, I was in the middle of a growth spurt, but there was no way Simon could have known that. What was he expecting me to do?

"Why wouldn't I want you, Zane? You're smart beyond your years and you know what's right. You don't honestly like living in this world, do you?"

"I guess not."

"I need people like you. People who know the terrain and how this world used to work. People who have a cause." Simon clasped his hands to my shoulders, and I finally looked up into his eyes. "I need people who can hear the fire."

The air left my lungs. Hear the fire... yes, I could hear the fire. That didn't mean I chose to listen. I could have gotten into trouble, and that could have put my family in danger. "Ask my sister."

"Your sister is a twat."

To Simon, maybe. She wouldn't have agreed to it either. I thought it was the smartest decision.

Simon sighed. "Listen, you've been a close friend of mine since you moved here. We're a tight circle, but we're breaking apart. Sydney and Chel are gone, and I don't know how to get them back." This made me wrinkle my nose. Since when had Chel been a part of our group? Since when did I give two shits about Chel Rosenburg? Since when did he even know my name? "Zane, you're all I have left. I can't do this without you."

"..."

"I know it's scary. Believe me, I'm scared too. But we can't just sit around and wait for our parents to fix things."

Little did he know, that had been my plan from the start. I figured things would all dribble down eventually. Kids weren't supposed to get involved in that kind of stuff. That's why we were kids.

Then again, I didn't feel much like a kid anymore. I hadn't for a long time, not since Galbadia.

As if reading my mind, Simon bent down and sat up on his knees, holding on to my hands. I knew what he was doing; he was trying to show me that this was my choice, that I was in control, that I was the higher level. Softly, he said, "Our mothers never ignored us before this. It was never an expectation to take care of yourself to survive, but that's the way it is now, and we have to live with it... but we don't have to put up with it." His hands came to my face. "You miss your sister, don't you?"

I nodded, and then came the water works. Determined that Simon wouldn't see me cry, I hugged him around the neck and set my chin on his shoulder, hiding my face from him. His hand cradled the back of my head, making me shiver.

"Think it over, Zane. I don't need an answer right away."

But even then, I already had my answer. If he wanted me, I would be there. If he needed me, I would be there faster.

I would have done anything for Simon Gunner, and he knew it.

* * *

"_How old were you back then, Zane?"  
"Thirteen."_

" _That's crazy. You seemed so much older than that."  
"If you say so..."_

* * *

**V**


	11. Chapter 11

**AN:** Rewritten as of 10/16/11

* * *

**The End – Then**

_Sydney_

Y'know how after you've been holding it for a long time, and you finally pee, _everything_ feels a lot better? Like, even stuff you didn't even realize was hurting suddenly feels great? That's pretty much where I was at that point.

A higher ranking D.C.U. officer finally came into the quiet-room after a while with bread, noodles and a cup of water – bless his soul, I was starving – and he moved cuffs to the front of my body so that I could use them to eat. He advised me to be on my best behavior, which became so much easier after I peed.

After some time passed, I was finally greeted by two omegas I didn't recognize, who said we were leaving. They lead me outside, where a glacial wind was enveloping the campus. I wished for a jacket.

Not far from us, inmates – woops, I meant to say "students" – were hard at work. Some were digging holes, other carrying sand, others doing drills or marching in groups. None so much as glanced at me.

I was herded into a new building and offered a bottle of water, which I refused. They left me in the lobby of the administration office, where I fell asleep standing up against the wall, had a dream about someone's hand on my face, then jolted awake. The daisy clock on the wall claimed that six minutes had passed. Only six.

Eventually I decided to sit down, but every time footsteps approached or someone passed by the window, I freaked out and stood right back up. Maybe I really did need anxiety pills.

Finally, one of the omegas reappeared and motioned me over to a doorway, which lead to another room. He took me by the arm and guided me in, closing the door. I suddenly felt like I had to pee again.

The only light in this room was from the disappearing sunlight through the blinds, so I had to squint. I could see a D.C.U. standing in front of a desk in the dead center of the room, but it was the figure behind the desk that caught my eye.

"Is this the burner you were speaking of?"

It was a woman's voice, and a familiar one at that. Maybe a little too familiar.

"This is the one," the omega replied, giving me a little shove, which I took as a signal to step forward. I slid my eyes to the bearskin rug and breathed slowly, trying to maintain my composure.

I heard the woman's voice again. "Come closer. I want to have a look at you."

I was certain she would say something more, but instead she took a box of cigarettes from her red handbag. I guess I should have known it was okay for the upper class to smoke. They had a habit of breaking their own laws.

The woman opened the pack with her little finger, her nails painted with a fine, purple polish. She set the clove between her lips and lit the end with a tiny, metal lighter. The little flame shuddered, perhaps warning me against what I already knew.

"You smoke, don't you?" she asked, holding the box out to me. "Would you like one?"

I shook my head, and she shrugged, puffing on the white stick. It was difficult to see her face directly, but I had the impression of smoke seeping out of her face like steam from a crack in the earth, or the mouth of a dragon.

"Something troubling you?"

"No, ma'am," I lied. "I was just looking at your dress. I don't think I've ever seen anything like it." That was also a lie. I had seen it once before, at the parade.

The day my life changed, Edea Kramer was wearing that same dress.

This must have been the right answer, because the Empress smiled with all of her top teeth. "So you like it do you? Do you have any idea what it cost?"

It was hard to speak. I felt like my jaw had locked up, and only she held the key. The Empress was right in front of me, addressing me directly for the first time. I just wanted to fall down and never get up.

"No."

"More than you did, that's for certain."

I openly frowned, which made her laugh.

"How old are you, little girl?"

"I'll be sixteen this weekend."

"Oh, my!"

The Empress crossed in front of the desk. She was about a head taller than me. If not for the omegas standing at high alert on either side of me, I would have turned and sprinted in the other direction, but for the time being, I could not escape her fingers as they caressed my temple. I winced, remembering the way her nails stabbed through the governor's spine, but her fingers were smooth and soft.

"Happy birthday, sweetheart." That voice almost fooled me; for a second, she almost didn't seem that bad. "Look at her, she's all bloodied up. What did you do?"

The omega that lead me in straightened his posture and gave the Empress an awkward salute. "We did our best, ma'am. She came to us in that condition, from a boxing class."

"Shame." She pulled back and blew a stream of smoke in my face. I held my breath as she pinched the skin on my arm. "Not very fit, is she?"

"Dr. Palmer says she's been on a hunger strike."

That was a lie. I wasn't on a hunger strike, I just hated the food there. Ham sandwiches and toast for breakfast and dinner, with black coffee served all throughout the day. No thank you.

"Well we'll fix that," the Empress cooed. "At least she's not as fat as the last one."

The last what? One of what?

Her hand traced a scratch on my forehead I hadn't known was there before. It stung, and I flinched. Good thing I'd gone to the bathroom beforehand.

"Would you like the pain to stop?" the Empress asked.

"Yes," I replied in a well-duh sort of manner.

"You're going to have to learn to speak more politely than that. All in good time, I suppose…" She snuffed out the cigarette on the wood of the desk, completely avoiding the ash tray just inches away. "Come with me. I want to show you something."

* * *

"Ladies and gentlemen," cried the man in the top hat, "tonight we are here to present you with a class act like no other!"

The theater was packed with people, most (if not all) of them omegas dressed in the white uniform. I had never been in there before. The high ceiling was painted with an intricate night sky. Lights on the catwalk illuminate the stage as the blood red curtains parted. The whole auditorium reeked of garbage.

The Empress was at my side, in a special box near the ceiling. We had to climb a flight of stairs to get there.

"Have you ever been to the theater before, little girl?" the Empress asked. I shook my head and swallowed my breath. "You're in for a treat."

Center stage, there stood a tall collection of large sticks and branches, some of them darker than others. Coming up from the center of the pile was one long, wooden stake. It was black with what looked like soot, as if it had seen many, many fires. The young man on stage had his back against it, his head hanging low in front of him. His chin was dripping with red, and he was bound to the stake with a strange sort of black wire, starting from his torso and ending at his knees.

"In the name of our Lady Empress Edea Kramer," said the man in the top hat, his voice rising and falling in the auditorium, filled to the brim with pathos, "omega officer James-Madison Leary has been sentenced to death on two counts of possession and illegal Null transaction for selling matches to the students he was overseeing."

While he spoke, two other omega officers worked to drench the bundle with lighter fluid from two large jugs.

"We ask that the Null play gently in our hands tonight. We burn this traitor, and praise the Empress for our clarity."

"Clarity," the crowd echoed.

A chill ripped through my spine. I went to speak to the Empress, but her eyes were settled on the stage, blazing with madness.

I tried to look away, but the omega behind me held my head in place.

_Help him!_ I was calling inwardly_. Why won't anyone help him?_

As the first log ignited, the young man on the stake burst to life, his head coming up to avoid the smoke. He coughed, and he screamed, but no one came to his rescue. The fire slowly ate away at the kindling, until finally it reached the main course of its meal, the fabric on the young man's clothes catching. Before long, pieces of skin were falling away from his face, and he wasn't screaming anymore.

_My curse on Endsville,_ a voice bellowed in my head_. My curse._

A thick stench climbed all the way up to the box where we sat, the smell of a body burning. It was enough to make my throat clench and my stomach burble.

The brainwashed lot in the audience roared with satisfaction. Unable to control myself any longer, I wailed, bringing my hands up to my face. The dam on my eyes had busted open, and now the flood of tears were in free fall. That's what the theater was used for. They killed "traitors," "blasphemers," basically anyone who stepped out of line.

It was too much for me to handle.

My vision glossed over, and the Empress' stone white face turned softer and softer, until it seemed to sparkle. The last thing I heard before I lost consciousness was her voice saying, "She has a taste for it now. Take her to the psych ward. I want to get a good look at this one's Heart."

But I wasn't hearing her words. I could only focus on one, single thought.

We were going to start a war.

* * *

"_And then she gave me a Dive."  
"What's a Dive?"_

"_It's when they put you under and upload your subconscious into this program that plays it out like a physical place. I had to go through it too, before I became a D.C.U."  
_"…_That kind of thing really exists?"_

"_God, yes. And don't you ever forget it."_

* * *

**V**


	12. Chapter 12

**The End – Then**

_Chel_

I was disgusting. The scum of the earth. I could have helped, maybe. Instead I sat by, following orders like a good lap dog, frozen into submission by fear. Fear, or something else.

I waited for any sign of awareness. Sydney would be waking up soon, now that she wasn't hooked into the Dive system. The two puncture wounds on either of her temples were the evidence of her plight.

Sydney stirred, and I felt myself deflate, instantly relieved. Some soldiers never made it out of Dives. Sydney was a fighter, though, and an inspection of her inner workings weren't enough to break her. Thank goodness for that. Simon would have killed me if those eyes never opened. Although, if the rumors were true, what came to follow this Dive would be even more of a challenge.

"Hey," I finally said.

She was staring at the ceiling. "What happened?"

"You passed out," I answered. "The Empress put you under. You were in the Dive system for a few hours."

"A few hours..." She slowly sat up. "Felt like days."

"You're lucky. Most of the girls that come through here fall into comas. You want some water?"

Her hand came to my shoulder. She supported herself on me to keep herself up, arm unsteady, head low. "I'm fine."

Fine? With the boxing match, the execution, and the Dive all in one day? A grown man would have been brought to his knees. She was far from fine.

I made sure the door to the quiet room was closed as her nose turned pink. If she was going to cry, I couldn't be seen consoling her.

"It's okay," I offered, trying to diffuse the situation before it got out of hand. "You're not hurt. You got through it. Buck up."

"What's going to happen to me?"

I wasn't one hundred percent sure, but I had a general idea. "The girls that wake up go to the castle."

"With my parents?"

"No. It'd be by yourself."

The look on her face was one of a wounded animal, begging for help. Get me out of here, I'm hurt, take me home and never let me know danger again. The words to follow, while surprising, were only appropriate for that look. "I love you, Chel."

And I always will, if you rescue me.

Simon hadn't told me about this, but somehow I'd seen it coming. The way she always followed us around, the way she'd tried smoking a cigarette. This Stockholm syndrome was a convenient coping method, and I hadn't done anything to prevent it. Maybe I was putting it off; approaching someone who has yet to confess their feelings for you would be a little awkward. Too late now.

"No, you don't," I told her.

"Yes, I do. I love you."

"No."

I took her wrist and pushed it away. My fingers coiled all the way around, it was so small. Breakable. What was she even doing here? Sydney was a child. She wasn't ready for class war, and she certainly wasn't ready for love.

"You really don't."

There were tears flowing in no time at all. She looked torn, abandoned. But what was I supposed to do? Lie to her? I couldn't lie, I couldn't reciprocate her feelings even if I'd wanted to. I cared too much to put her in that position. Frankly, I was doing her a favor.

"Don't say that," she whimpered, "You don't know."

"I do know. You can't be in love with me. You don't even know me."

"I do know you! I've known you since you came here, Chel! A whole year ago! You're smart, caring, and kind..."

It was impossible to control the sarcastic snorting sound I made, which seemed to offend her even further. Her face twisted with distress. I sighed and leaned forward, taking her hand. She immediately pulled it away. Good girl.

"I'm not kind, Sydney. I don't know how to be kind. You would know that if you'd ever bothered to speak with me. You only know me through your brother."

"I could get to know you."

"What would I want with a kid?"

"I'm not a kid."

"How old are you again?"

"Sixteen."

"It would never work, Sydney. You're too young for me."

It might have been better if I had said "I'm too old for you," to spare her feelings, but I really wanted to get it into her head that I wasn't the man she had invented in her daydreams. Kind, caring, smart Chel. A cookie cutter person that didn't apply to me and likely never would. There was so much Other-Chel would have said to fix the problem, but Real-Chel kept his gob shut. This was war, and if Sydney was going into that castle, there was no room for compassion. She needed to be a soldier.

"Look," I went on, "even if I did feel the same way," which I did not, "I could never be with you. It's partially my fault that you're even here right now. I could have helped you during the boxing match, but I didn't, and you used your limit break to save yourself, landing you here." Being bold, I reached out and let my fingers graze the top of her forehead, just above her eyebrows. "Look at how much I've neglected you just to save myself."

"You haven't neglected me."

Maybe not directly, but the purple, yellowing splotches behind her bangs wouldn't be there if I'd stood up for her. Nothing needed to be said as I pushed her hair up. There was a sense of understanding between us, even if she wouldn't admit it.

"I love you," she said one last time.

"Stop."

* * *

_"That night, I went to Simon's house and demanded that we make the Patriots something solid."  
"And so began a revolution."_


	13. Chapter 13

**The End – Then**

_Simon_

Just as I was zipping up the backpack that cradled the larger fireworks, I tuned into the conversation on the other side of the wall.

"Where did you get these, Dad?"

"The moogles I'm working for are teaching me how to synthesize," our father replied. "I don't quite understand it much myself, but my mentor thought you might enjoy these."

Curious, I crept over to the open bedroom door and glanced out into the living room. Sydney was there, near the front door holding an open box. I was expecting her to take out something extremely valuable, like a string of diamonds or something. Instead, she used one hand to lift up a pair of ordinary, gray tennis shoes.

At first, I was a little upset. _What a rip off,_ I thought. _My gift is going to be way better than some stupid sneakers_. Then I saw the wings. They were purple and velvety; moogle wings which grew from the outer heels of either shoe. Each wing stretched towards the ceiling, as if having been awoken from a long nap.

"I hope they help. Happy birthday."

"Thanks, Dad..."

Yeah, well, they were cool and all, but my gift was still gonna be better.

Eager to please, I came into the living room and scooped her out of Dad's embrace. "You ready to go, kiddo?"

"Be careful out tonight, guys," Dad called. "There's a lot of talk about a serial killer running around our area."

"Yeah, yeah, we'll be safe."

Of course I wasn't jealous. No way.

* * *

More people showed up to the mill than I'd first expected, but the number was still few. Chel and I had sent out little word on short notice, so I guess I really shouldn't have been surprised. Most of the faces that stared back at me were caked with dirt and riddled with scratches. Some were even dressed in the white Omega uniform, including Chel, who stood at my side.

Was our cause really that bold?

Standing at the northern end of the room behind a rickety old writing desk, I cleared my throat and tried to banish the cotton mouth settling on my tongue. The mill was small enough, and there were so few people, that there was no need for a microphone. Then again, we probably couldn't have afforded a sound system even if we needed one.

Lucky us, then.

My introduction consisted of just two simple words: "Um, hi." Literary genius.

My palms were sweating. I was normally all right talking to big groups of people; presenting projects or giving speeches that were written beforehand had never really been an issue for me, but for some reason I was really, really nervous that night. Maybe it was because I didn't have a script? Or maybe I was still baffled by the fact that we were actually doing this. We were going through with it.

Before going on, I looked over towards Sydney on my right hand side, who merely smiled and nodded, edging me to keep at it. The marks on the sides of her head were starting to scab. My bravery showed its face again.

"I guess you all know why we're here. Our town is going to hell. So, um... thank you all for showing up. You've all seen it – there's something up with the adults. They're not the same as they used to be. So-"

Here it was. I breathed deeply.

"-It's up to us now." I paused, expecting a lull, but those few who were there (eleven besides myself, Chel, and Sydney is my best guess) remained silent. "First order of business. We need a leader. Any volunteers?"

Leaning forward on the writing desk, I watched all eyes fall to the floor or rise to the ceiling. Someone coughed. "Nobody?" I inquired. Not one single person?

I turned my head. "Chel?"

The dark haired young man passionately shook his head.

For a moment, it seemed as though we were going to have a problem. Then, out of nowhere, a soft voice called, "I nominate you, Simon."

A rather tall girl had to step aside in order to reveal Zane. His sweater was full of holes, and the sleeves were crusted over with days worth of dried snot. He had a runny nose.

Millions of thoughts raced through my head. When was the last time someone had bothered to do the laundry for him? Was he that skinny the week before? I dug my nails into the sides of the desk, thinking of Gwen, wondering why she wasn't doing her job as his sister.

"I think you should do it," the redhead went on to say. "You're already kind of doing it now."

I was almost certain someone would object, but no one did. My heart jumped up into my throat.

"Are there any more volunteers?" Silence. As expected. Great. "Huukay... then, um, all in favor of me?" I lifted up my palm to demonstrate.

Zane was the first to raise his hand, standing on his toes so it went up high. Sydney was next, raising her flattened fingers at eye-level as if she were waving at me. Not everyone voted, but the majority ruled, and I became the leader of the Patriots.

I made a face, which made a few kids giggle, something I hadn't heard in days. It was enough to convince me. Yes. Nerves or no nerves, I was born to do this job.

"All right, all right, fine," I said, "then I'd like to set up some ground rules." Standing up straight, I made sure my posture was as upright as possible, trying to look professional. "Eyes on me, I don't want anyone to miss this...

"Our objective is to get the message across: we will not be pushed around. Burn what you can. Buildings, trash cans, industrial parks, it doesn't matter. Just don't get caught, and don't be stupid about it." I pressed a hand to my chest. "Tight clothes. If you can't tie up your hair, wear a hat. Don't carry identification, you might drop it. No cell phones, no wallets, not even homework." Everyone wore an intense expression, myself included. "Only burn at night, and never, ever burn alone. Establish a buddy system if you have to. Don't burn everything, and don't burn civilian homes. We're here to help these people wake up, nothing more. Understand?"

A few people nodded. Others vocalized with the scattered "yeah" and "okay."

I paused and licked my dry lips, realizing that in my excitement, I had gotten a little louder than intended. With a chill, I wondered if the mill and Evergrove Lake outside would keep our secrets. If they squealed, it could mean life at the Home, or worse.

"Lastly," I went on. "always remember: our primary target is the Empress."

Just then, someone called from the crowd, "Don't call her that! We all know her name."

Sucking in a sharp breath, I clamped my mouth shut and nodded. "You're right. We do know her name. Edea Kramer." A few faces went white, others became more animated, with just the slightest twinge of anger. "It's simple. She's a dictator, and dictators always fall. Her entire establishment is going to burn."

"Long live the Patriots!" Zane exclaimed.

Sydney nodded. "Patriots."

Chel folded his arms. "Mm hm."

Grinning, I cracked my knuckles. "Okay," I said to the small crowd, "Let's get started."

* * *

The mill and the suburbs were separated by a long, winding hill that lead down to the lake. It stood near a set of train tracks, but the train only ran one way at night, and it cut off at nine.

In other words, it was the perfect place to hold our meetings as long as we kept having them after midnight and didn't leave a mess. We decided that this would become out base of operations, as long as the big bankers in the city didn't care about it. No one cared about the mill. It was old and rusty. The lake didn't have anything you could sell, like fish or oil. This whole corner of the town was useless to them, perfect to us.

Chel and I quickly got to work on a small fire outside while everyone else played tag. When the big log in the middle of our makeshift pit finally started to burn, I got up off my knees and tuned in to the game. Zane was "it," and Sydney was falling a little bit behind. She was wearing the special shoes Dad gave her, but they seemed to be giving her some trouble. She was tripping over herself, taking steps too fast for her legs. It was only a matter of time before Zane caught up and tagged her, picking her up and swinging her around in a circle.

A part of me smiled and basked in the sound of their laughter. Another part wanted to run up and remind my sister that I was there, that she should pay attention to me and not Zane. Not Dad, either. I was the one taking care of her now. Me.

I shook my head, dismissing those thoughts as soon as they surfaced. It was good that she and Zane were still friends.

The sound of the fire seemed to liven everyone up. It seemed to hum, as if it were playing music for us. As usual, though, everything wasn't okay.

With a sigh, I turned to Chel. "You've been watching over Syd for a while, right?" I inquired.

He lifted his head. "I guess."

"Do you know why she has to leave early this weekend? She won't talk to me about it."

Chel dropped the last of the twigs into the fire, brushing his hands off on his pants once they were empty. "I'm not completely sure," he replied.

"But you know something, don't you?"

"Yeah. I do. Edea's been taking kids up to the castle if they pass a mental test." He nodded off into the distance, towards the mountains. You could see the lights from the castle well enough from where we stood. It glowed, high up, away from everything. Detached.

"Sydney passed this test?" I asked. At the time I had no idea he had been referring to the Dive. I didn't even know things like that existed in our world.

Chel sighed. "Yeah. She passed with flying colors."

I felt all of my limbs tighten. "Sydney's going to _live _with the Empress? Why? What for?"

"Call her Edea." Chel slid his hands into his pockets. "And I have no clue."

"You seem awfully chill about this."

"Yeah, well. I'm getting promoted soon," he replied, tapping the largest log in the pit with the toe of his shoe. It shifted, then fell off the kindling, sending giggling embers up into the air. "I'll be a Beta next month."

"And?"

"There are always security jobs open at the castle. Edea's really extreme about it. She's paranoid." He pushed his bangs out of his face. "With any luck, I can get on as a full timer, which means I'd be living at the castle during the week." His dark eyes turned up towards me. "See where I'm going with this?"

"I think so..." That didn't mean I had to like it.

"If Sydney becomes Edea's apprentice like all the other girls, she won't get weekend visitation anymore," Chel continued. "But if I'm up there, and I can come back into town on the weekends. I can let you know how things are doing. We could have Sydney get information-"

"I don't want to talk about this right now." I couldn't think of my sister living under that woman's thumb, alone. It made me want to stick my head in the fire until my face burned off.

"Simon, if you want to take Edea down, we _have_ to talk about it. This could be our key to all the answers. You know that, don't you?"

"Yes."

Chel took a few steps towards me, but I kept my eyes on the fire.

"Don't tell me you're not serious about this whole thing. You're our leader now."

I turned up my head, glaring. "_Of course_ I'm serious," I snapped. What, did he think I was playing hero? Praddling around and getting the kids' hopes up for nothing? This wasn't a game to me. It never had been.

"She'd do anything for you, you know. All you'd have to do is ask." It was as if we weren't even dealing with a human being anymore, let alone a sixteen year old.

She'd do anything for me. "I know." I'd always known. But why would I ever use that against her? Or anybody?

A knowing smile inhabited Chel's lips. "Just talk to her."

Before I could respond, a loud popping noise shot through the air, and the sky lit up. We looked in time to see the end of a red shower of sparks. Someone had found the fireworks in my back pack.

A few excited voices ascended with the next one, blue this time. I didn't wait around for Chel's approval before darting over to the launch site. We could talk about war tactics later. This was a time for celebration.

"Hey!" I called. "I was supposed to light off the first one!"

And so, we set off the colorful explosives one after another. We had to make it quick. As soon as someone saw it in the city, the Betas would come barreling in, and we needed to be gone before that.

Sydney stood close by Zane, and he helped her light a sparkler. The two sounded off battle cries and launched into a shimmering sword fight.

This was both my gift to her, and to my newly established organization. Way better than some shoes, am I right?

I set one off over the water, and three more popped off at its side. It was euphoric. The sparks that came down from the side were singing in that weird language of whispers. In my euphoria, I started to get careless.

Eight dash thirteen. This date shall forever be embedded in my mind as the day the Patriots became a solid unit, Sydney's birthday, and the day I lost my left ear.

* * *

_"That's why you started wearing your hair long."_  
_"Right. Longer than usual, at least."  
"I think it looks better on you that way."_  
_"Aw. Thanks."_


	14. Chapter 14

**The End – Then**

_Sydney_

Mr. Stine came to the apartment early enough to interrupt the morning news, looking plumper than ever. Simon and I were under the impression that Dad would be driving me back that day, but Mr. Stine came instead. I didn't want to go. I wanted an extra afternoon to look after my brother, what with his injury, but I hadn't been given a choice.

It was a quick goodbye. I made sure not to cry.

The car stopped outside the front door of the castle. The door itself was a mass of wood standing about two stories high. Mr. Stine helped me out and brought me over by the arm, as if I would try to escape. He rapped his knuckles on the tremendous door, and much to my surprise, a smaller passage within the door swung open. Grimacing, I arched my neck to squint up at the rest of the colossal. It was just for show.

How many other things in my new home would be for show?

Three Betas met us inside. They opened up my bag and dumped it out on the floor.

"Ah-! Hey!"

"Sorry," an officer said. "There's a killer around. Can't be too careful."

They went through it, searching for fire hazards and weapons, I guess, and tossed out a few of my clothes, my cosmetics and my hairbrush. When they were done, they had me shove everything back inside. It felt so much lighter after they were done. They'd left me with the essentials, the things I needed. Apparently eyeliner wasn't a necessity to them. Go figure.

The officers soon lead me to a large, tiled room with a few shower stalls, a sink and a big mirror. There was a woman waiting for me, with a chair and a pair of scissors.

"Is your hair clean?" someone asked me.

My eyes widened, and my heart sank. Knowing what was to come, I started to make a fuss, knocking over the chair, screaming and shouting, doing whatever I could to stall for time. "You're not cutting my hair!" I cried. "That's going too far!"

I went unheard. It only took one officer to get me down into the chair even with my thrashing. I kicked and spat and balled my hands up, but it did nothing. I was hurting myself more than the stupid man dealing with me. With the help of a second officer, they managed to restrain me while the third forced a tiny pill past my lips. He held his hand over my mouth, expecting me to swallow. Bad choice.

The first pill just sat there on my tongue, dissolving until I started deliberately spitting up. There was a foul taste and a chalky texture to it. Clear drool ran like a faucet from my mouth, getting all over the officer's leather glove.

Eventually I managed to spit it out on the floor, but it wasn't long before the officer came back at me with another. This time he pressed his thumb on my throat, forcing me to swallow without any kind of control. The pill wedged itself down my throat, and I felt every second of it.

The man drew back and flicked the wet saliva off his hand. "Eugh! Wipe the spit off her face!"

Whatever he gave me started kicking in almost as soon as it went down. Within a few minutes, I was far too tired to argue anymore, and eventually the officers let go of me. All I wanted to do was sit. If I stood up, I was certain I would vomit. I couldn't even force up the energy to cry. When my head moved, it felt like it was moving in heavy, lagging sections. Was I going to die?

I could barely feel the woman's fingers on my scalp. She kept telling me to sit still, but I couldn't really control my fidgeting.

The nausea was killing me.

I closed my eyes so I wouldn't have to watch the chunks of long, brown hair gather on the floor. In my panic, I imagined myself with a shaved head and started to panic again. This was hell.

Before long, I was standing against the wall in a shower chamber, being bathed in a rank smelling liquid. Disinfectant, I think, though for what I'm not entirely sure. Probably ridding me of my "commoner filth." The woman outside kept asking if I was okay, I didn't know. I just didn't know.

I didn't get a chance to look in the mirror before I was escorted to my new holding cell, or "room" as they called it. It looked like they had tried a bit too hard to make this look like one. The wall paper was a lighter shade of blue than the carpet, there was a blue dresser in the corner and a walk in closet with some stuff cluttered in it that didn't belong to me, books and briefcases andsuch.

At the time, I was too tired to care. My stomach hurt and my body felt cut off from me. I fell down on the bed and buried my face in the pillow, wishing I had my Tinkerbell sheets and my brother. Eventually, I fell asleep with my fingers tangled in my hair. What was left of it, anyway.

* * *

Perhaps a few hours later, the bedroom door creaked open and light spilled into the room. The sun had set and my room was dark. Had I really been out for that long? It'd still been early in the afternoon when we arrived...

"Time to get up."

The voice that beckoned me was gentle. I felt a cool hand touch my face. The woman before me was the same one who cut my hair.

"Are you okay?"

"Do I look okay?"

"Sorry. Doesn't hurt to ask."

The woman reached over to the dresser and turned on a small desk lamp. The light was dim, but it was enough to illuminate her profile. She had a very pretty, round face and dark, thick hair that reached her lower back. What? How come she got to keep her hair and I didn't?

Her lashes were long and her lips were pink. She could've been a movie star, yet she was dressed like your average housemaid. There was a name tag on her blouse that read _Asuka_.

"Do you want an aspirin?"

"You're giving me the choice?" I asked in cold blood, gauging no reaction. "No. Please, no more pills."

"All right."

Asuka stood up and flattened her skirt. I couldn't quite put my finger on it, but even then I knew there was something different about this woman. She was not like the rest of them – the Betas and the Omegas and the instructors...

"The Empress wants to see you in the dining room for dinner."

"I've got a stomach ache," I replied. "I don't want any food." Which was total bull shit, because I hadn't eaten since the day before. I really just didn't want to see the bird-woman's face.

"Then you don't have to eat, but the Empress won't let you turn her down."

"I don't want anything to do with her."

Asuka reached out for me. I flinched, expecting a blow, but instead her fingers pushed a piece of my hair behind my ear. "Listen," she said, kneeling down, "I know this must be hard for you, but this is an opportunity you don't want to pass up. If you pay attention to the Empress, and do exactly as she says, she will train you to become a sorceress."

I looked into her face. "A sorceress?" I murmured. "Those are witches in kid's books."

She nodded. "A fantasy based on reality."

"What are you talking about?"

Asuka ignored my question. "If you don't cooperate, she'll send you to the theater. Or worse." With that, she took my hands into hers and helped me stand up.

"Who are you?" I asked.

"My name is Asuka."

"No, I know that, but I mean... how do you know all this stuff?"

The woman's face softened a bit, with something I couldn't recognize. "I've seen many girls come here before you," she said softly. "I've been here for a long time, and I've seen many girls before you."

"Girls?"

"The Empress's apprentices. You will become one too, if you pay attention." She smiled. "You know, this hair cut doesn't look half bad on you."

"Yeah, yeah..."

"No, really." Asuka brushed off my head, perhaps seeing a few extra hairs from when it was cut. "It looks very sophisticated. Like a little soldier girl."

"A soldier girl..."

That sounded much better than a sorceress girl.

* * *

This, I thought to myself, was what the dining halls of hell looked like.

The table was long with twenty chairs – nine on either side, and one on either end. It was set for two. I was seated in a chair near a corner, my back facing the door which lead to the courtyard. There was a plate and chalice set in front of me, and the smell was making my stomach twist with desire, but I didn't want to touch it. I didn't want to take the risk of getting drugged again.

That was what they used to do in the Home, I recalled. They would crush it up in your dinner and you'd sleep straight through the night. If you ate, that is.

She was sitting one chair down from me at the end nearest to the fireplace. Her. The Empress. Edea Kramer.

"Aren't you going to eat?" she asked, making me jump.

I didn't answer.

Edea put down her fork and uttered what sounded like a giggle. "There's nothing in it," she assured me. "No sleeping pills. No drugs. It's just dinner, see?" She cut up a piece of her pork and took a slow bite, never taking her eyes off me. "I heard you were on a hunger strike at the Home."

"I wasn't-"

"You must be hungry."

Watching her eat made me feel like my stomach was eating itself from the inside, and truth be told it probably was. It took a long, long time, but I eventually decided that it was worth the risk, and I grabbed up my fork and knife. I went straight for the meat on my plate, ignoring the steamed vegetables and bread roll off to the side. At first, I shamelessly shoveled the food into my mouth, but after a moment I caught Edea staring at me, an amused grin plastered on her face.

_Don't you watch me eat, _I thought. _I'm not your pet. _

"There is a reason I had you brought here, Sydney," Edea finally said, pressing her hands into her lap. "I'd like to discuss what happened in the gym the other day, if it's not too much trouble."

"Nothing happened."

"I think you're lying. Miss Glore was hospitalized with third degree burns all along the left side of her face. A good part of her hair was singed – she had to shave it all off."

"I didn't do anything," I retorted once again. "It just sort of happened." I paused to take another bite then spoke while I was chewing, "She had it coming."

I felt my chest thud, and I realized I really had to be more careful with my words, otherwise this could have been my last meal. Might as well enjoy it then, I thought, tearing into the bread roll.

"You have a black eye."

Did I? Oh. I hadn't realized. Was it there the day before, when I was shooting off fireworks with Simon and Zane?

"Was she beating you hard?" Edea asked. I nodded. "I see. That explains the Limit Break, then."

"I've heard that term before. Limit Break. What is it?"

She chuckled with an expression that seemed to question my common sense. Was this something everyone knew about except me? I sunk back in my chair, ready to listen.

"I suppose you could say that a Limit Break is your body's last stand in battle," she explained. "Usually, your Limit Break is only activated at a point of severe physical weakness or pain."

Scraping a bit of soggy bread off my back teeth with my tongue, I mulled this over, imagining the feeling you get when you've stayed up for more than a day and you get sudden bursts of energy out of nowhere. The concept seemed similar.

"What I find interesting," Edea went on, "Is that most people never even hear of their potential to build a Limit Break until they are twice your age. Yet here you are, burning bullies at fifteen."

"Sixteen."

"Oh, yes, you had a birthday recently. Pardon me."

I had hoped that this would steer her a little off track, as I really didn't like where this conversation was going, but she went right back at it without stopping.

"Your results in the Dive were exceptional as well. Some never make it to their darkness before going mad."

My darkness.

I shivered, remembering the reflection of me without a face. The shadow in the light.

Having lost my appetite, I set my fork down and took a sip from my cup, only to spit it right back out. Wine. I hate wine, to this day. "What's your point?" I asked between chokes, setting my napkin to my mouth.

We locked eyes.

There was such a great contrast between the two of us. The bird woman was very willowy and tall, while I was still growing. She had a perfect hour glass figure, but my B-cup bras were still a little big on me and my hips would snap if you pushed them hard enough. Her eyes were a very stark, striking shade of gold, whereas mine were a simple, dark brown. Honey and shit, sitting at the same table.

We were – and are – complete opposites.

Edea rested her arms on the table. I could feel her pinning me to my chair with her gaze. "You have talent, Sydney. I could really use someone like you."

"Use me..."

"To expand this empire that I am building," she vocalized, touching her chin to her knuckle like a little girl. "To stretch my horizons beyond just Endsville. To bring other worlds – Twilight Town, Traverse Town, perhaps even Hollow Bastion – into a gentle reverence."

Uncomfortable, I sat up, challenging her. "Conformity. You're looking for conformity."

A smile crawled along her lips. "Conformity, acquiescence, civil obedience... call it what you will. It's all the same to me." She took a sip of her wine.

"What makes you think I want anything to do with conformity?" Although, up until recently, I hadn't cared either way. I wonder if she knew that. "Why I would help someone like you?"

I had expected Edea to appear insulted, even angry, but her expression was unwavering. She set the cup down and traced the shimmering rim with her index finger. "Look around you, Sydney," she said. "I am where this world is going. This political plan isn't even at the climax, and I already have this entire town eating out of my hands."

"Eating what? People can't afford to eat because of you."

"That has nothing to do with me," she countered.

She lifted her finger from the cup, and much to my astonishment, the liquid followed, coming up from its chamber in a thin, bubbling line. My eyes widened and watched the marvel. Somehow, she was making the wine float.

"I merely set the laws in place. How the people interpret them is not my responsibility. It's not my fault the citizens are irresponsible with their money. Buying things like cell phones and skateboards and... magic shoes." She smirked.

I opened my mouth to argue more, but the wine dropped back into the cup with a great _gulp_ing noise, silencing me. Not a drop out of place.

Edea looked bored. "I'll make this quick. Your father borrowed a considerable sum of money from me when your mother had her accident." Had she been looking my family up before all of this? "From the kindness of my heart, I granted your father this loan in confidence that he would pay me back, and so far, I've yet to see a single dime, even with your expulsion. I was considering just sending you to the theater with the other children whose parents can't handle their finances, but here you are, setting people on fire, by accident no less. I really wouldn't want to waste someone with so much potential. Most of the girls I've mentored can't even strike a match. So-" Her eyes narrowed dangerously, making my mouth go dry. "-we need to decide what to do with you."

I considered her words. She was going to send me to the theater. I was going to die. Yet there I was, alive and well, tasting her alcohol and consuming her food. All because I just happened to burn some girl's face. Some girl I didn't even know.

My luck was so insane I could have fainted with laughter were I sitting in any other dining room.

"I'm going to give you two options," Edea began. "One, you can become my apprentice. I will assess your abilities through a series of exams, and when I have my results I will teach you how to bend the environment to your will. It will be hard, painful work, but the pay off will be worth it. My only condition is that you only leave the castle with my permission and accompanied by a chaperone. You won't be leaving very often, though, as your training will require the utmost dedication. You will be fed, clothed, and taught basic schooling at your own personal pace."

Not too bad, minus the never being able to leave part. And what did she say about something being "painful?" Didn't quite catch that.

"On the other hand," she continued, "if you do not accept this set of conditions, you will work here, in the castle, as a maid, until you have paid back both your father's debt and the cost to keep yourself fed. If you leave the castle at any point without the company of an officer, you will be shot."

The bird woman's eyes seemed to glisten, like two coins on a piece of paper.

"Do you understand?"

I nodded. Basically, I could either become a slave for life, or become a slave for life and get a few added luxuries. Prison, or pretty prison.

Great.

If only Mom and Dad hadn't been fighting on that night when everything changed. If only I'd had the courage to go out and beg them to stop. Maybe, just maybe, I would've been at home, curled up with Simon in his bed. Hungry, maybe, and probably scared, but confident that my knight would keep me safe and warm.

But I wasn't at home, and I wasn't in Simon's bed. I was in the Empress's castle on the mountain, with two paths placed in front of me. Simon wanted me to use this opportunity to relay classified information through Chel. He'd begged me, from the hospital bed, bandage wrapped around his head. More bills. I could get rid of all those bills.

On the other hand, was I really so willing to sell myself for the sake of a few money drunk adults? Was I really ready to throw away my future, my dreams?

_Dreams... what dreams?_ No one needed a dancer in our world anymore. It was childish. Stupid.

"Think it over," Edea offered, standing elegantly from her dining chair. Her throne. "Finish your food and sleep on it. I don't expect an answer tonight, or even tomorrow if you're unsure."

But I already had my answer, and that was probably the worst part.

Later that evening, after I'd finished my dinner, I found the nearest bathroom, ducked my head into the toilet and threw it right back up.

* * *

"_I found her the next morning and told her that I would do it; I would become her apprentice. She made the phone call to my parents for me. I didn't see my family for a long time after that."  
_"_Probably a good thing, too. I think I would've given anything to get away from my family at that point..."  
_"_You don't mean that, Zane."  
__"Says who? Did I ever tell you my Mom was drugging me, too?"_


	15. Chapter 15

**The End Then**

_Zane_

I'm sure you're probably sick of hearing me bitch about my home life, but this is sort of relevant to the politics of our world at the time.

Public school had become a safe haven, even with the older kids pushing me around and making up jump-rope rhymes about my red hair. There weren't very many of us left, but they still found room to wage war. All that aside, I wasn't at home, and that was becoming a blessing.

My seventh grade teacher, Miss Moss, had begun taking special interest in me. She'd started asking questions about my attentiveness. "Why are you so sleepy all the time, Zane? How's your health doing?" Of course, I lied on a daily basis, staying that I'd stayed up late watching television. A few weeks before, that might have been a legitimate excuse to fall asleep in class and take six bathroom breaks one after another, but by that point it was just an unconvincing lie. Miss Moss didn't let up prying about my exhaustion and my stomach aches. Mom was coaching me on what to say about my appearance, so I simply passed on her lies.

Yet Miss Moss wasn't letting up. She really was a beautiful person: young, not quite as indoctrinated as her superiors.

Finally, she reported her concerns to the school principal, who called Mom. When I returned home, Mom went off about some "ignoramus" teacher turning her in for "neglect" of an up and coming member of society. She said that she would meet with the principal to clear her name.

The next day, when I came home, my palms were sweating in my pockets as I paced up the driveway. Mom greeted me at the door with a glowing face, waving goodbye to the bus driver. She told me about how she got all dressed up and took the day off from work to dedicate all the time necessary to clear these false accusations; how she let the principal know that her little Zane had an "overactive imagination," and that ever since he'd started playing with "those rat-tag high schoolers," he'd been neglecting his responsibilities around the house.

Uh huh. Yeah. That's the face I made, too.

Mom lead me inside. She really had used that time off from work; the spills in the kitchen were wiped up and the carpets had been vacuumed. It was nice.

"You hungry?"

She didn't let me answer. There was already a bowl of watery tomato soup on the stove, and me standing right in front of it didn't intimidate her enough to keep from crushing up the white pill and sprinkling it over my bowl like seasoning.

"Make sure you eat it all," Mom sang. "We don't need the school to think I'm starving you, or something."

Oh, no. She wasn't starving me at all. Just drugging me, and of course no one was going to stop her. In fact, news anchors were encouraging their parents to feed their children pills when they acted out. It was part of the Empress' philosophy; she believed that if your child was out of control, you, as a parent, had the right to take any means necessary to restrain them, lest they do harm to others.

"Make sure you give me your shirt before you lay down. I'm doing the laundry today."

Even if restraining your child meant sending them to bed with a rattling bottle of pills, so be it. That was the thing, though. I didn't feel out of control at all. In fact, I felt like a normal kid. I did my homework and I kept my room clean. Why was I being punished?

As long as we were on the topic, I dared to ask my mother a very lethal question.

"Child support?" she rang, looking at me as if I'd just spat a cockroach out on the carpet. It took her a moment to answer, her voice softening. "Your Dad didn't send it." She opened the silverware drawer, handing me a spoon that had been washed without dish soap. "And so what if he did? It's none of your business."

By the time Gwen sauntered through the door later that night, I was too dizzy to get up, too dizzy to sleep. All I could manage to do was cry and clutch my stomach. My sister patted my head and encouraged me to suck it up, the stench of the same, cheap beer lingering in her words.

When she realized Gwen was home, Mom stomped through the hall, bellowing about how her children were ungrateful. How we were disgusting. That she didn't even want to look at me, rolling around on the couch like I was sick or something. If she had the right mind to, she said, she would put me in the Home and send Gwen to jail.

We both knew she wouldn't do it, though. She was just tired. Mom got that way when things became too much to handle. Half an hour later, she was holding my head, rocking me back and forth, apologizing while Gwen ran a brush through her hair. I forgave her, of course, knowing that she wasn't always in control of her own thoughts, and I forgave Gwen for being a drunkard. Sure, I hated their guts, but that didn't mean I couldn't love them.

All three of us were just trying our hardest to cope.

I curled up in Mom's lap and fell asleep to the sound of an interview while she stroked my face, pretending that I could escape to Sydney's house the next day, where we could play video games and eat fig newtons. Pretending that my sister wasn't addicted to destroying her body and that Mom wasn't overworked to the point of lashing out. Pretending that the father I barely remembered would come here and take us back home, to Galbadia, where things couldn't possibly be as bad.

Pretending that the Empress never showed up, and that her name wasn't so familiar that it made me sick sometimes. Pretending I didn't hate seeing her face on the television so much. Pretending her voice didn't grate my insides and turn them inside out. Pretending I was in control.

Pretending I was happy.

* * *

_"I don't think it's as bad as some people had it, but..."  
__"That's still no excuse. I'm glad you're okay now."  
__"If you call this 'okay,' then yeah, sure."_


	16. Chapter 16

**The End – Then**

_Sydney_

My training began the day after I had dinner with Edea, starting with a basic checkup. An on-site doctor had me weighed and measured and pricked. They drew my blood and let me know that I wasn't getting enough vitamin B or C, and that I would have to take supplements for a while until I adjusted to a regular diet again. I needed to get healthy.

The first day of training _destroyed_ me. My personal trainer met with me in the courtyard after breakfast, where I had to dig a hole, four feet wide and four feet deep. Apparently Edea wanted to plant trees back there, so of course the work dribbled down through the people that said they didn't want to do it until it reached me, who had no choice in the matter.

This wasn't so bad. The wrecking ball came in the afternoon, starting with a long series of pushups, which I wasn't able to do. No seriously, I was physically incapable of doing these pushups. I got in maybe six acceptable ones in the half hour my trainer dedicated to this section. Afterwords, I had to sprint from one end of the courtyard to the next, nonstop, until I heard my trainer's whistle, at which point I had to drop down and do sit ups, which I couldn't really do either.

The more I messed up, the longer the drills lasted.

Finally, we went inside so that I could lay into a punching bag, which I guess wasn't all that bad, but by that point I was ready to pass out.

When we finally got around to the end, the sun was already setting. My next job was to run a lap around the perimeter of the castle, which was actually great; I could take as much time as I wanted, just as long as I was done in time to shower before dinner. No one to watch me, no one to tell me to go faster. Just me and the outdoors.

That first day, I just walked. I'd strongly considered just walking off and taking my chances with the mountain path back to the city, but there were beta officers stationed at every corner of the castle to watch for just such an occasion. They weren't set there for me specifically or anything; they had to watch out for runaway servants of all sorts, people like Asuka and the other maids.

I ended up falling asleep in the shower that night, I was so beat. Asuka woke me up to let me know that I was taking too long and that I would be late for dinner. However, I pleaded with Edea, and she let me go straight to bed without eating. She made sure I had a large breakfast the next morning.

By the end of that month, my legs felt like noodles, my lungs were ready to burst, and my arms felt flabby, but my trainer and Edea both insisted that I was making progress. The exercises were getting a lot easier. I was finishing up earlier with each day and getting a few hours of free time before dinner with my hostess, whom I only ever saw in the evenings. Soon I started using an hour in the day to do independent school work that Asuka gave me.

Being able to run was the best part. I've always been really good at running, and it was good for burning off my pent-up frustration. Believe me, there was plenty to go around.

It really wasn't all that bad. I started thinking that if things kept up the way they were going, I could handle it, no problem. If all I needed to do was exercise and eat and study, I could fall into a routine and just shut myself down for a while, without thinking of my brother or my parents.

That night, as I shuffled through the doorway of the reading room – which I often used as a short cut – I happened upon Edea, reading some book by candlelight. She looked up.

"You look tired."

"I was about to catch a shower," I replied. This was me dismissing myself, but she held my eyes in her own, expectantly.

"Sit."

There were no chairs, save the recliner that Edea had claimed for herself, so I crossed my legs and dropped to the floor in front of her. It felt nice to sit, company or no. We'd never really spent time together before, apart from dinner each night. Somehow I was okay with this.

Edea leaned forward and rested her arms on her knees. She was so delicate, all the time. Didn't she ever slip up?

"How have you been doing?" she asked. "Are you enjoying yourself?"

With what, exactly? "Not really." I lowered my voice a bit. "If it's not too bold to say, Empress, I... I don't really see a point in any of this. Pushups are going to help me be like you?"

"Maybe they will, maybe they won't."

"Is any of this relevant?"

"It's perfectly relevant." The candle light cast sharp shadows on her face, making her look like a sinister witch. "Except the times when it isn't."

I closed my mouth after a yawn, wondering if I'd ever be able to respond to her in the right way. Somehow she always managed to shut me up, even when I wasn't through talking.

_Should I question her? _I often thought. _Do I look her in the eye? Or do I duck my head, like everyone else? _

The window was fogged from the moisture outside, and the candle's reflection was little more than a bright halo. The flame beckoned me, and even though I wanted to resist, I watched it dance on the wick, my attention slipping, vaguely aware of Edea's stare.

_Sydney..._ I licked my lips and blinked. _Sydney..._ My body was so exhausted, it almost seemed criminal to refrain from closing my eyes. _Sydney..._ To yearn for sleep. _Sydney..._ Comfort. I knew that interacting with fire was technically illegal, but its soft little whisper that only I could hear was so intimate I couldn't help myself, even with the wicked witch watching. We shared a sweet secret, me and the candle. _Sydney... Sydney_...

I closed my eyes and let myself drift. For a moment, it felt as though I had fallen asleep, but I could still feel the reading room, the wool carpet, the smell of the books, the quiet sigh of the vents. Yet when I opened my eyes again, Edea was gone, as were the shelves and the walls. All that remained were the candle and its halo, directly across from me in darkness.

"_Sydney." _The fire spoke boldly now. It had a strong, feminine voice that carried rather than whispered.

"_Sydney," _it said again.

"_What? I'm tired. Go away."_

"_Hold on to me, Sydney. Hold on tight."_

I was certain that I had fallen asleep and that I was dreaming, but I felt extraordinarily lucid. Even on the rare occasion when I'd managed to lucid dream in the past, I'd never known where I'd fallen asleep, what I'd done the day before, it was all kind of set on the back burner. Not this time. Oh, no. I remembered everything, and I was aware of it all.

I reached out and my finger touched the flame. Since this was only a dream, so I told myself, it didn't burn me. Rather, I felt a tingling. It started at my finger, then spread to my arm, filling me, pooling at my legs and coming up to the top of my head like warm water. Heavenly. Energizing. I was no longer tired. This, I realize, was the same feeling I had during the boxing match.

"_You're so strong for someone so small,"_ the voice continued. _"Maybe you can save me."_

"_Who are you?"_ I asked.

"_A memory."_

"_My memory?"_

"_No. Not yours. But we've met, many times in the past."_

Hearing this, I went through, trying desperately to pinpoint the voice. If we had met before, why didn't I recognize it? Maybe it would be bolder just to ask. _"What's your name?"_

"_My name? Right now my name is Endsville. But I had another name... a long time ago."_

Of course, this struck me as very odd. The voice was claiming to be the voice of Endsville, but what did that even mean? Endsville was a city. Cities don't think. Cities don't speak. They don't remember, because they can't remember. They don't have brains, souls, hearts, so how could they have memories?

"_You think you can save me, don't you?" _The voice filled my head. The voice of Endsville. _"Will you love me? Take care of me? Heal all of my pain?"_

What was the right answer? Did any answer matter? This was just a dream, right? But it felt so real. So, so real...

Endsville sounded remorseful when she spoke again._ "That's what I thought..."_

"_No, wait. I-I will."_

"_Then hold on to me."_

The flame on the candle burst forth, crawling up my arm, eating my skin. Yet I felt no pain or fear, just that same tingle, like my blood was made of fizzling water. The light disappeared at my chest, and an image flashed in front of me. It was very distorted, as if I were looking through someone else's blurry eyes. Teary eyes.

There was a dance hall, well lit and filled with people. My eyes focused in on an older boy who looked very much like Chel, but with lighter skin and a scar cutting across his face. I felt my body grow weak in the knees as we made eye contact, and suddenly I was thrown from this scene and into another.

Too bad for that... I was hoping to ask the boy for a dance.

I held a strange sword in my hand, one with a trigger and a barrel for bullets. There was nothing but the sky before me, and a city below me. It was not Endsville. This city was far brighter. I was stationed atop a platform, a tower, perhaps, running, then leaping from the ledge, leaving my post. Someone wanted me there. Someone important.

I fell from the building, the ground coming at me. I spoke to Endsville again.

"_Where are we?"_

"_A very old city, called Galbadia. This is where-"_

A scream spliced through the air, hitting my ears, making my insides clench. "NO! YOU'LL RUIN EVERYTHING!"

A black sort of smoke appeared before me, spitting out numbers. Dates? An endless stream of dates... I fell further, faster, until I fell straight through the black smoke and into my body.

I was Sydney again.

* * *

As I settled back into this sweating vessel of mine, I fell back and hit my head on the dark, wood floor of reading room. It took a moment for my eyes to readjust. Edea was kneeling before me, ever vigilant, one of her hands pressed firmly on my shoulder.

Her purple lips curled. "You are ready."

"R-Ready? Ready for what?"

"For the _real _work!"

Edea took me by the hands and helped me to my feet. My head was swimming.

"There now, you see! That wasn't so hard!"

"What are you talking about?"

"It was awfully difficult trying to get you to go under, little girl. You're as stubborn as a – well, a stubborn girl!"

She was trying to make light of the situation, whatever that situation was. Too bad I didn't feel much like laughing.

"Go under?" I inquired. "You mean _you _did that?"

"Did what?"

"Made me see-"

"Oh, no, dear. I can put you under, but I can't make you see anything. Not at this level." Edea threw her head back and giggled like a school girl. Somehow, I was having a hard time believing her on that one. "But please, by all means, do tell. What did you see?"

I considered lying, but it was hard enough processing what had just happened without coming up with something on the spot. The truth, then. "A tower. And a city with a lot of lights. I don't think I was me, though. I had long hair, a-and this gun... sword thing." My mouth encountered a red light as I caught Edea's expression. "And I jumped off... the... tower..."

Edea's eyes widened, and her neck grew stiff. I was sure she would lash out at me.

Instead, she let out a sharp breath – a laugh, I think – and turned away from me. "Very well," she said. "We will start on your elemental training tomorrow. Take your shower, and then be off to bed."

Dare I press my luck? "Edea?"

"I said _off to bed._"

That's a no.

* * *

My bedroom seemed extra dark that night.

I buried myself beneath the covers, near the point of tears. Every time I would fall asleep, I would dream of that city, and I would hear the phrase repeating over and over in my head. "NO! YOU'LL RUIN EVERYTHING!" Each time, it sounded a little more shrill, a little more desperate. It became louder and louder, until I would jolt awake from the feeling of falling.

The bedroom I awoke in was always dark.

Bull crap.

I found myself regretting many things:_ I wish I hadn't cut through the reading room,_ was my initial thought. Followed by,_ I wish I could convince Edea to let me keep a night light, _and, _I wish I'd never heard the fire in my head._

But most importantly, _I wish Simon was here_...

The more I thought about the possibility of something crawling around in my room – namely, something with a hawk head and eyes the color of greed - the faster my breathing became. I was sure that if I looked out from under the covers, Edea would be there, at the foot of my bed, tapping her face with one of her talons.

It was hot that night, humid enough to make my pajamas damp. I wanted to throw the covers off, but I didn't dare...

"NO! YOU'LL RUIN EVERYTHING!"

I sat straight up in a blind alarm. Had to hide. Edea could be in the room, and I had to get out of sight. In a hysteria, I barreled to the closet, throwing open the door and slamming it behind me. The first thing I did was feel around on the wall for some kind of switch. I almost screamed when I didn't find one, but the cord hanging from the ceiling poked me in the eye, keeping me quiet. With my slippery fingers, I pulled it down and let the light blind me for a moment. Then I pushed aside a suitcase and sat down in the corner.

I calmed, convinced myself that Edea had better things to do than terrorize me in the middle of the night, although it took a while.

Asuka never cleaned out the closet like she'd said she was going to. It was cramped, but it felt safe, almost like the tiny apartment room back home. The floor was still riddled with books, strange ones at that. Books that smelled kind of funny. _The Inner Witch _was one of them. Another was titled _Sorceresses and their Knights. _I flipped open _Elemental Goddess _to pass some time and settle my nerves, but I didn't really understand much of it, and I found it kind of boring. Lots of occult stuff, I guess, but boring was better than terrifying. Probably should have paid attention to that stuff. Whoops.

There was one in specific, however, that caught my eye, simply because it didn't have a title.

I took the tome into my hand. It was bound with a brown material that made me think of soft grass, and there was a broken lock on the cover that clicked open as soon as I touched it. Busted?

Curious, I turned the cover and found that its pages were once blank. Now, though, it was filled up with words in different color pens. The handwriting was very clear and practiced, but elegant at the same time. You could tell a girl wrote this.

A diary.

On the inside of the cover, a name was written in lovely cursive. Rinoa Heartilly. I know it was invasive of me to keep reading, but hey, it was left in my closet, right?

The first entry was marked with that specific day's date, down to the month and year. I blinked and flipped the page. Had someone really written in this book on that day? If so, why was it in my closet?

**September 15th, AE40**

_I'm very tired, and I probably should be sleeping, but I can't seem to keep my eyes shut. There's a looming darkness in my room tonight that's bothering me, and I keep having the same dream about a woman named Adele. Edea says that tomorrow, the "real work" begins. I don't know what that means. Haven't I been doing real work for the past month? As if digging holes and running laps aren't enough... I don't want to think about what she considers "real work."_

...Huh?

At first, I just sat there, but then I laughed, because that's what people do when someone tells a joke like this one.

**September 16th, AE40**

This was the next day's date, the "tomorrow" of then.

_Rain today, and plenty of it. Squall finally got his promotion. I saw him in the hallway, and I wanted to say hello, but I didn't. I'm frightened that if I say anything, I might get him into trouble. It's just great to know he'll be here from now on. I have to go soon. Edea wants me to eat breakfast before my first "elemental" test. Bring it on._

Another page flip. The next entry was stained with small droplets of what looked like dried blood. It had browned, and it'd been smeared on the page pressed next to it, meaning that this entry couldn't have been written on the same day that I was reading it, or the day after. It'd been there for a long time. By then, I was positive that this was a prank, or that Rinoa had gotten the year wrong, at the very least.

**Later...**_  
Don't worry about the blood. It's just a nosebleed.  
The first test was pretty intense. I actually ended up passing out. My nose has been running ever since, occasionally with blood, but it doesn't hurt. In fact, I want to try again tomorrow.  
Will this diary remain private, I wonder? I should put a hex on it, or some kind of special lock. Yeah, that sounds good. If you're reading this right now, shame on you, breaking into a girl's diary!_

That last bit made me laugh. It was like listening to someone who was really there. With Rinoa's voice in my head, and the mystery of the dates resting in the shadows, I felt less alone, and I fell asleep with my head against the wall.

* * *

"_Wow... so like, the diary was predicting things?"  
"Oh, come on, Zane, you don't really believe that, do you?"  
_"_Why wouldn't he believe me? I'm telling the truth!"  
_"_You're full of it."  
_"_I am not!"  
_"_Can we keep going, please? I think we're about halfway done. This was where things really went to shit."_


	17. Chapter 17

**The End – Then**

_Simon_

"You did what?!"

I stared down at the blue tiled floor, baseball bat in one hand, lighter in the other. "Yeah," I admitted, "we set the old office building on fire near the school."

"I don't care about any of that!"

Gwen advanced on me, slamming her fist on the kitchen counter with a loud BANG. I had to take a few steps back, but even then she stood just inches away, her freckled nose planted up towards my face. Her eyes flashed with a blind passion, and I could tell from the stiff way she stood that she was perfectly sober for once.

"Don't shoot the messenger!" I exclaimed, throwing my arm up to defend my face, just in case she decided to throw a punch.

"Messenger?!" Gwen echoed furiously. "You're way more than a messenger! You were involved! You letthis happen!"

"I didn't do anything!"

The redhead threw her hands up with frustration. "Yes! That's right! You didn't do anything!" She turned on her heel and marched away, leaving the smell cheap, ninety-nine cent body spray in her wake. "That's the whole problem! You didn't do anything, Simon! And now Zane is gone!"

Hearing this made me flinch. I knew all too well what had happened – I was there, after all – but it was still a little difficult to accept. When I'd started the Patriots, I'd known that we were putting ourselves knee deep in a pile of serious shit, but I really hadn't imagined that someone close to me would get arrested, especially not an amateur like Zane. Whatever happened to beginner's luck?

* * *

It'd been the first time we'd targeted something big, and one of the few times we ever did again. Near the elementary school stood an entire office building that had been abandoned for about a week, closed down for construction. Ripe for picking. I decided in my stupidity that we would burn it down to leave some sort of message. Maybe if it was near the school they'd figure out that kids were rebelling, that we weren't stupid and that we weren't taking their bull shit.

But it was way too much. I know that now.

There was no moon out that night, so we had the cover of darkness on our side. The disadvantage, however, was that we couldn't see very well in front of us – me and Zane, I mean.

We should have gone out with some more people, but I was cocky. It was Zane's first time burning, and I wanted to teach him. I wanted to be the one among our ever growing group to break him in.

The redhead was a natural. He had managed to light the match the first time he struck it, without fear. On my order, he dropped it to the line of gasoline I had drawn on the carpet, and we ran for the window.

There was a Beta officer waiting right outside, not because he knew I was there, but because there were officers on every block in those days, especially near construction sites. I was ready for him. Devoid of hesitation, I cracked my baseball bat across the man's skull before he could get a good look at my face, sending him down to the ground on all fours.

"AGH!"

He let out a cry, calling the attention of another officer, who didn't manage to get his gun out in time before I took a whack at him, too. I threw a glance over my shoulder to make sure Zane was still with me, and then I started running.

"Pick something in the distance!" I told Zane. "Run for it like nothing else exists!"

The explosion went off a few seconds later, followed by a number of cracks from the fireworks. I lifted the bat above my head and let out a joyous cry as the colorful sparks soared into the air. The bottom floor of the building went up in flames. Me? I was too scared to look back. I ran as though the Betas were right on my tail with their guns drawn, ready to scoop me up and haul me off to prison if I made a mistake. For all I knew, they could have been.

I went a long way, leaping over fences and into back yards before I finally decided that we were in the clear. After scaling a short, brick wall, I turned to congratulate Zane on a job well done, laughing my ass off, only to find myself alone with my shadow.

Fear seized me. I waited for a moment, expecting him to scramble over the wall. Hadn't be been right behind me not long ago? Weren't we practically tripping over each other just seconds before?

"Zane!"

Dropping the bat, I jumped and latched my hands to the ledge of the wall, pulling myself up in time to see my redheaded friend in the alley, being dragged away.

I wanted to call out to him, to tell the officers that they had the wrong guy, but my mouth stayed shut. My gut twisted with despair as our eyes met, and he didn't say anything. He looked at me solemnly as the officer to his right patted his pants and shirt, looking for fire power.

And they would find it. It was his first time, so I'd given him the matches. He was in control, and now he would be taken away.

I dropped down to the grass and passed my hands over my face, frantically whispering, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," as I grabbed up the baseball bat and prepared the speech I knew I would have to give to the gargoyle of all big sisters, who was at home, waiting for him.

* * *

"He knew the risks when he joined the group," I told Gwen, keeping my head low, even trying to squeeze out some tears.

Her perfectly plucked eyebrows jutted out at me. "Group? What group? The Patriots?" Her hands went up to her head, and she tugged at her hair. "Simon!" she shouted. "You guys are kids trying to be adults! This isn't a resistance group, it's a child's game!"

Her words stung, but I stood my ground, even as she kept going.

"Setting fires, beating up the cops – what good are you really doing for anybody? People are getting hurt because of you, Simon! This isn't a game! You're not a little kid playing pretend anymore! Wake up!"

Again, she threw her hands down on the kitchen counter. How fun. I'd never seen her so animated before. There were tears on her face. Sober tears.

"I'm really sorry," I said. "You'll probably be getting the call from the Home tomorrow morning."

This was probably the most upsetting part, too. Sydney and Chel weren't at the Home anymore. They had vacated to the castle on the mountain, so I knew there would be no one there to show him the ropes. His situation was different, too. He wasn't going because his family couldn't afford to feed him, he was going because he was labeled as a delinquent. A burner, even. Frankly, he was lucky they hadn't seen him start the fire, otherwise he would've been guaranteed a trip to the theater I'd heard so much about.

I thought that maybe I could smooth things over, at least get Gwen to laugh. "You look very pretty tonight," I mumbled, noting the way her hair looked in that messy, house-wife bun she wore. In all honesty, she wasn't half bad looking when her brain wasn't a bee hive.

This didn't quite sit well with her, though. Instead of getting modest and embarrassed like she usually would, she shoved me in the chest, towards the front door. "Who the hell do you think you're talking to?!" she barked. "Get outside! I don't want to see your face!"

It wasn't really my place to criticize her for this, either. When I'd found out my sister had been taken to the Home, and even when I'd discovered that she'd be going to the castle without weekend visitation, I'd been livid, too. Gwen and I were one in the same, just two older siblings looking out for our better halves.

Kids trying to be adults.

As I sauntered down the street, dragging the baseball bat behind me, I wondered if Zane was nearly as angry with me as I was with myself.

* * *

_"I wasn't mad at you, Simon."_  
_"You weren't...?"_  
_"Nope. Actually, I felt kind of cool, like I'd taken one for the team."_


	18. Chapter 18

**The End – Then**

_Sydney_

I rolled over on my bed and blew my nose into the wadded up piece of toilet paper again. The wastebasket by the door was filling up with bags drenched with blood and snot.

**September 10****th****, AE40**  
_Don't worry about the blood, it's just a nose bleed._

"Yeah, I get it now," I grumbled. "Thanks a lot, Rinoa..."

At first, the air compression training scared me half to death, but by that point, it was just annoying. In a nutshell, every morning I had to head down to the wine cellar everyone called the dungeon, only to get my nose hooked up to an air compressor that pronged all the way up into my sinuses and made me sound dorky when I tried to talk.

"The goal," Edea had said, "Is to blow up this balloon." And she handed it to me, a regular, limp, blue party balloon. Everything was blue around here. "If you can concentrate hard enough to expand the air within it, you'll only need one good breath to pull this off. Extra credit if you can pop it." Then she would smile, touch my face and say, "Focus, Sydney. Get into your meditative state."

So I would take her advice, breathe, count down from twelve in my head until I felt like I could meditate effectively enough with a pair of tubes up my nose, but then the compressor would come on without warning and everything would tighten. Edea would stand off to the side while I struggled to hold my breath until my face was going red, focusing hard on the air inside the rubber, visualizing the molecules, trying to get them to spread apart, but each time I felt like I was getting close, each time I would blow air into the balloon, I would suck in another breath and wheeze when it felt like my eyeballs were being sucked into my head.

Each time, I would eventually pass out.

We couldn't slow it down, either. It had to be fast, Edea had said, because the magical element of air was all about speed and swiftness.

Some days she wasn't even there. Other days she would squabble with the nearby Betas about castle security, talking about someone called the "Secret Admirer." I never really tuned in.

A week went by, then we took a two day break because I was getting an infection, but it started right up again soon after. Eventually Edea realized that I wasn't making any progress, and that I wasn't popping anything but blood vessels in my eyes. When she said that I would be taking a new test, I consulted the only person I knew that could give me any sort of help.

**September 17****th****, AE40.**  
_They say it's like drowning, but I don't believe that's true. You simply are drowning._

At the time, I wasn't all that worried. If it was anything like the test for the air element, which apparently was a little out of my league, it would all be over quick. What was the worst that could happen? I was a decent swimmer, right?

* * *

During one of the days when we were taking a break on the air test, I consulted Edea about the diary as discreetly as I could.

I went through the reading room on the way to the shower on purpose, and as expected, there she was on the same chair as before, cradling a tome in her hand and reading it by candle light. The flame on the wick danced a little dance, it called out my name as if it were excited to see me, but I couldn't pay it any attention.

Instead I approached Edea and sat down in front of her, waiting for her to finish up the paragraph she was reading. I'd quickly learned that she didn't like to be interrupted.

When she was done, her bird eyes connected with mine, her face delighted.

"Hello, little one," she sang.

I sat with my legs folded criss-cross-applesauce and balled my blotched snot rag up in myfist.

"Empress," I began carefully, "Can I ask you something?"

She closed the book and set it down in her lap, leaning forward with interest. "Of course, little one. Anything. Though, it is close to our bed time, so we should make it quick. What's on your mind?"

It took me a moment to gather the words I really wanted to string together. I had this strange feeling that I wasn't supposed to find the diary, especially considering I wasn't allowed to keep one. If not me, why Rinoa? Point is, I really didn't want to lose the diary. It was like having a video game walk-through, except for my life.

Which is technically cheating, I guess, but given my circumstances, could you really blame me?

"Are there other girls here?" I finally asked. I knew that there had been people here before, but I was primarily concerned with the present, considering Rinoa's diary seemed right on track with everything going on.

"Other girls?"

"Girls like me. Apprentices to you. There have been ones before, I know that, but do you have another one right now?"

It was then that Edea let out a short, simple laugh. "Heavens, no," she said, throwing a hand up. "I hardly have time to manage you. What makes you think I'd take on another apprentice?"

"Oh."

She set her lips together and sat back with disinterest. It seemed as though my question wasn't nearly as exciting as she'd hoped. "You're right, there have been others before you," she added. "And each time, each one has failed me one way or another."

I felt a cold chill rush over the room. "Failed" her? How? Sure, I was doing okay on a physical level, but had these girls all "failed" to produce the strange, otherworldly magic that she was looking for? Had none of them blown up the balloon either?

Disturbed, I thought about how I hadn't been making any progress with the air compressor. I swallowed my breath and asked, "What happens if I fail you?"

"Don't worry about that, little one. I have complete faith in you."

"How come?"

"Well, with the others, I had to go hunting for just the slightest sign of a gift. It was so tedious that I began to lose faith. Whereas, you came to me, in a sense." Her words made me think back to the boxing match, and the blurry image of my opponent's hair disappearing into flame.

"You mean you haven't picked us at random?"

"Sometimes the selection was random. Sometimes they just showed potential. But I already know that you have it in you, little one. I've seen it already. We just have to awaken it."

This was meant to be reassuring, but I wasn't convinced. I sat up on my knees and placed my chin on the arm of her chair, trying to rule out her attention and keep her focused on me. Edea set her hand on top of my head, running her nails over my scalp. She tried avoiding the subject of failure. "What makes you ask about the others?"

I thought up a quick lie, closing my eyes and leaning into her gesture. "It's just that I never see you," I exhaled. "I thought you might be busy with someone else."

"I am busy. Very busy, but not with another apprentice. With interviews and meetings and speeches... Shall I make more time for you? We can meditate together more often. Or I could take you along with me, if you'd like, provided it doesn't interfere with your schooling."

Oh right. That stuff I didn't do.

"And if I do fail you?" I asked again, watching the fire with lids half-open. "What happens then?"

"I'll have to send you Home," she said softly.

"Home?" I almost became hopeful. "To my parents?"

Which made her giggle. "No, darling. I mean back to _the_ Home."

"Oh... right."

So even though I was her favorite so far, if I didn't prove myself, she would toss me aside just like all the others. And here I was thinking we were having a moment. Right.

Somehow a simple head scratch and the lull of a candle was enough to make me forget one crucial thing: Edea Kramer was not human.

* * *

In a thousand years I don't think I could have predicted what came next.

Edea lead me downstairs to the cellar slash wannabe dungeon, where an inclined bench was waiting for me. The Beta officers at her side helped to bind me to the bench, which, of course, I didn't have room to complain about. I could hear water dripping and hitting the ground somewhere in the room, but I didn't look around for it. Instead, I kept my eyes focused on the ceiling, breathing deeply, counting back from twelve.

They left the room for what felt like a long time. To pass the time, I tried to meditate like Edea had taught me, but the sound of the water drops was making me squirm. I was quickly realizing that I should have gone to the bathroom before braving something like this. My bladder was ready to burst, and I had to grip at either side of the bench to keep from soiling myself right then and there.

It was all because of the stupid water. To this day, I'm convinced that Edea did that on purpose.

As the cellar door opened, relief flooded over my entire body, and I didn't really feel like I had to pee anymore. I kept completely still, and Edea looked down on me. In a strange way, I felt like she wouldn't let anything happen to me.

"Now, dearest," she said slowly, "this one's going to be a little tougher. We're not going to revisit this one as often. I'm almost positive it's out of your element, but we still need to check and make sure. Do you understand?"

I nodded, and realized that the dripping had stopped.

"Try to focus on controlling the flow of the water."

Just as I caught glimpse of the garden hose in one of the officer's hands, a thick towel was placed lightly over my face. Seconds later, a bit of water sloshed out over the towel, flattening the fabric on my face. At first, I almost laughed. This was it? All they were going to do was pour water on my face?

_Fine, _I thought. _Let's get this over with._

So I held my breath for about thirty seconds, and received a total of three doses without trouble. As soon as I had to gasp for air, though, things changed. The liquid was in my nostrils one second, and my throat the next, heading straight for my lungs. When I tried to blow out from my nose, it only resulted in more water. I opened my mouth to breathe through it, but the air was purely moisture, if there was air at all. It only made things worse.

They were drowning me. I was suffocating.

My brain was screaming,_ BUBBLE! BUBBLE! _My throat and mouth burned. I coughed, my breath wet, my chest filling with fluid. I pounded my hands against the bench as much as my binds would allow, trying to swallow, trying to make sure the water went to my stomach. Instantly, I became terrified. When I wasn't choking I was screaming.

The rag was finally lifted and I came back to my senses. As I forced gulps of air back into my throat, Edea stared down at me, her face unreadable. When I was released, I got up, sat on the floor, hacked a bit, and then grabbed at her dress, unable to speak. I wanted to beg her to make sure I never had to go through that horrific experience again, but her skin was cold. Unresponsive. Dead, even.

She simply patted my head and whispered, "Now that wasn't so hard, was it?"

The next morning was a repeat performance, but this time in front of Asuka. Unlike the first time, when she'd reassured me that this was probably going to be too much, instead Edea was boasting, "This will teach you endurance! Don't be such a baby!"

A part of me still feels that she brought Asuka in there for her own perverted pleasure. The two of us had been talking a bit lately, and I guess Edea didn't like that very much. I'd assume this was Edea's way of warning Asuka.

"Don't step out of line," the gesture said. "Or you'll be next."

I was hoping that perhaps she would call out to me, beg Edea to stop, but instead the maid looked on without emotion as I fought against the treatment, thrashing my head from side to side so that most of the water from the hose would spill out on to the floor. It wasn't enough, though. I was still breathing water.

By the time I was done, my wrists were rubbed raw from the ropes. I sat up, dizzily, my shirt soaking wet, clawing at my throat as I broke out into uncontrollable, damp barks. As if she were kneeling to pet a dog, Edea slapped me on the back a few times to help drain my esophagus. It wasn't long before I blacked out.

* * *

Dawn came too quickly the next morning, and while I waited to be escorted out of my room to do it all over again, I drew the curtains at my bedroom window and looked out at the city. The water was following me, it seemed.

**September 19****th****, AE40**  
_Rain again. Will it ever stop? Will any of this ever stop?_

In a sick way, I almost wished that Rinoa was there with me. Maybe she was, in spirit, through the diary, but I found my self wishing that we were physically there for each other, enduring the same sick "tests," knowing that we were doomed for the inevitable. Comforting each other, cheering ourselves on, making things just a little easier. Talking about our families and our old crushes. Life before all this. Rinoa didn't talk much about that in the diary.

Nobody had ever said her name around the castle. When I asked, people claimed not to know. She just didn't exist, and yet we were sisters in bondage. Somehow.

I touched foreheads with my reflection on the window glass. The raindrops slid down my mirrored face, daring me. I wondered, out loud, "What would Rinoa do?"

* * *

_"Something's bothering me."_  
_"What's that?"_  
_"I don't know, it's just... the name? Rinoa? It just sounds really, really familiar."  
"Familiar? Familiar how?"_


	19. Chapter 19

**The End – Then**

_Simon_

Standing in the street lamp's shadow with rain on my jacket, I squinted down the road. The downpour hadn't let up since morning. My shoes were squishing every time I took a step.

I put my hand in my pocket to check that the plastic lighter was still there. His lighter.

"Excuse me," a voice hushed. I lifted up my eyes in time to see a man shuffling forward, kicking up puddles in the street and making loud splashes as he approached. He was going to give away my position if he kept that up. "Are you Simon Gunner?" He wore a hat that cast shadows on his whole face, making his features a black slate.

I could see the white pants underneath his trench-coat, though. They'd found me. Again. Shit. There was no getting away from these guys.

So without thinking I turned to run. He pursued. Our footsteps sounded like the thunder above us as he tailed me, and I didn't make it maybe ten yards before he threw all of his weight at my back and fell forward into a wall. He pinned me there, flattening a hand against my mouth as I started to scream. That was when I knew.

"Come on, Pyro," the man whispered when he had my arms secured behind my back. "Is this how you greet your confidant?"

"Get off, Chel!" I cried, voice muffled by his glove. He laughed and released me. Now, thanks to him, the entire front half of my body was soaked with smelly run off from the wall, clinging to my chest, making me colder than ever. I was eager to get home, even if it was a thrill to see my friend again. "Do you know how much you scared me?! For all I knew you could have been the Secret Admirer!"

"Hey, ease up," he said, "I got the stuff, just like you said."

He double checked around the corners to make sure we weren't really being watched, then opened his coat. On either hip, latched to his belt, were two plastic bags. I could see the lighters, the matchsticks, charcoal, and candles through the clear wrapping. He tore them off and tossed them to me one at a time, so that I could tie each of them to my pants. Each bag must have weighed two pounds.

"Why so much?" I asked, buttoning up my father's coat.

Chel patted his pockets and took his hat off. His dark hair was soaked to the scalp. "Because I'm not sure when I'll be able to do this again," he said. "I'll still have weekends off, and I can drive my own car, so I'll still be able to get here, but..."

"But?"

"Well, they know we've been burning, and they're getting anxious. Security is really tight up at the castle. That's why they're hiring me, even though I'm just starting out."

It took me a moment to remember that Chel wasn't just an Omega trainee anymore. He was being promoted to the big guns, a member of the Domestic Conservation Unit, a Beta member. Our deepest spy, next to Sydney herself.

"That's not good," I said with a sigh.

"Well, I don't know that yet." Chel stepped closer, waving his hands as he spoke, his face animated with excitement. "The castle is where my contact lives."

"Your contact?"

"The person that gets me the stuff. Apparently they still use fire regularly up at the castle. They keep it locked up in a storeroom that's completely separate from the facility itself."

I didn't really understand.

"They've got fire locked up?" I asked.

He looked at me as though I'd just cut off my own tongue. I was so embarrassed that I probably could have. "No! The stuff!"

Chel reached out and gripped the bags under my coat, making my legs surge. I immediately became uncomfortable, but only because if it were up to my interpretation, his touch would have almost seemed sexual.

Sometimes it almost seemed like he was doing it on purpose, especially when things got tense like this. It drove me crazy, made my whole body explode with heat that repealed the cold from the rain.

"Oh," I replied. "Right, sorry... my bad." I ran a hand along my face, also sopping wet. A breeze went through the street, and the whole city seemed to tremble. "So, just how close are you going to be to the Empress if you're getting moved?"

"Body-guard status," Chel explained. "The whole gig is a pretty sweet deal. I guess they're really over-staffed everywhere else, so..." We gave each other knowing glances. If the Empress weren't such a fucking psycho, she wouldn't need so many soldiers, and places like the Home wouldn't be over staffed.

"Chel," I began, "I don't want you to take that job."

He paused for a moment, then his face got a little too serious. "Look, man, this is a big opportunity for us."

The butterflies in my stomach all exploded simultaneously. "First Sydney, then Zane, and now you. You're leaving me alone. I don't know if I can do this by myself."

"You aren't by yourself. You have all of those kids that look up to you."

"The Patriots?" I shook my head, and had to remind myself to keep my composure. "The kids, they're... they're great, but... bahh, they don't know me like you do, Chel. Nobody does. I can't lose you."

"Simon, don't do this. Not right now."

"Okay..."

I woefully watched the raindrops hit the concrete, imagining that I could be one of them. If I were a drop, I thought, I could just fall from the sky and disappear. Raindrops would never have to worry about being alone. When they'd hit the ground, they'd just join a mass bigger and more important than themselves. They were never alone.

Chel sighed and hugged me. I hugged him back.

"You know I love you, right?" I mumbled into the wind.

"Yeah, I know," he replied.

It was just something that was generally understood between the two of us. I knew that Chel didn't swing that way, my way. I knew he would never look at me in the way that I looked at him, or that he'd even consider it. From the day we met, I'd known that I'd been in love with him, and I think he knew too. He never left me, though. Not until now.

"You know that Sydney loves you, right?" I asked. He didn't answer. Instead he held me firmly by the shoulders, and I continued on with my pressing questions. "Would you consider it?"

"Consider what? Your sister?"

"Yeah."

"..."

There was an indirect question hiding behind Sydney's name. "Would you love me if I were a girl? If I had been born in my sister's body, would you love me?" I didn't say it, but it's what I meant.

But I didn't need to say it.

For the first time, I saw Chel lower his head. He bowed out, and spoke barely above a whisper, as if he didn't want the rain to hear. "Simon." I turned up my ears intently. "I'm not fit to love anyone. Not you. Not your sister. Nobody. I'm just... nobody."

We stood there for a long time, soaking in the unfairness of it all.

I thank god that the rain drops didn't judge us for our words that night, or that if they did, they held their tongues. They hit the ground too quickly to say anything. If only I had, too.

* * *

_"You okay?"  
"What?"  
"You're looking at me weird."  
__"Oh... I don't know, I just, um... I was thinking about something. Can we keep going, please?"_


	20. Chapter 20

**The End – Then**

Sydney

The exercising with the personal trainer stopped after a while, because Edea's psychotic "elemental training" sessions had become a daily thing. As September faded into October, and October to November, my morale began to dwindle.

Every day I would lie down on the board. Every day I was bound. Every day I was drowned. It never improved. I never learned anything. It just happened. There was no benefactor. She had promised it wouldn't last long, but it was. Sometimes we went back to the air compressor. Sometimes we didn't do anything. But it never got better.

Nothing interesting was happening in Rinoa's diary life, either. The dates at the back of the book went all the way to the next year, but I was only reading one or two entries each night, hoping that she would guide me somehow, like a horoscope. However, this was quickly proving pointless. All Rinoa wanted to talk about was the man named Squall and how much it sucked that she couldn't talk to him.

One entry, however, did stand out to me more than the others after a while.

**October 25****th****, AE40**  
_Mother nature is a cruel teacher. She's beautiful and unforgiving. Through her divine intervention, I've grown wings of my own. It is a secret that I will share only with you, diary. Maybe one day I will show Squall, and we can fly away from here._

One thing that hadn't caught my eye beforehand was that Rinoa claimed to be living under Edea, just like me. Yet even though the entries were stretching so far into the future and had predicted a few milestones in my conditioning, the diary was already written and filled cover to cover when I found it. So she couldn't have been living under Edea during the same time period that I was, as the dates claimed. Not when everything in the diary had _already happened_.

But everything in it was so accurate. There couldn't be_ two_ Empresses, could there? Even if there were, how did it explain the dates?

Edea finally decided that the waterboarding condition wasn't doing any good. The water elemental just wasn't where I was supposed to shine, and if she kept up with this she would sooner kill me than teach me out to bend liquids the way that she could. A new treatment was in order. It would take place in the same room, the cellar, using the same bench. Only this time, there was a hole drilled in the bench at my upper back, and there was a small box of dirt placed underneath.

_Mother Nature,_ Rinoa had said in the diary. This must've been the elemental test for earth.

I was strapped down again, while some of Edea's goons shuffled around with stuff I couldn't see. She was there, stroking my forehead in a motherly manner.

"This exercise is going to take a bit longer," she told me. "In fact, you'll probably be here all day."

"Great," I muttered.

"You went to the bathroom beforehand?"

"Yeah."

Wouldn't be making that mistake again. I hadn't eaten breakfast, either, and I was confident that this would be more of a benefit than a drawback.

"Good. The idea is to make the plant grow _around _you. Focus very hard, and try to visualize it as best as you can. I will come in and let you know when the test is over. Until then, you must sit perfectly still. Do you understand?"

Then, Edea did the most unexpected thing. She bent down and kissed me on the forehead.

"Break a leg, little one."

A chill chased down my spine, and again, I was left alone in this room with my terrible, terrible thoughts. I expected the worst and hoped for the best, but really, I couldn't have imagined what happened next.

For a long time I tried staying very focused. I did as Edea had instructed, breathing deeply and focusing very hard on the idea of a plant growing around me. The plant I saw in my mind was very stringy and light, almost like a weed.

The impression I had was that my objective was simply to make the plant grow. I was wrong.

After a long, long time, I drifted into a deep sleep, dreaming of growing grass and budding flowers. By that time I had already given up. I wasn't going to make a plant grow in a day, no matter how hard I thought about it.

Soon, though, I awoke to a sharp pain in my upper back. It started out very dull, but it was definitely there, like being poked with a sharpened pencil. When I tried to move around to get more comfortable, it only hurt more. Confused, I just laid like that for a while, until the pain became more defined. By this point I was certain that something was prodding into my back through the opening in the bench, and that it was drawing blood. It was sharp, like a knife, but sturdy, like a log. Every half hour or so, the pain seemed to multiply twice over.

It was almost as if whatever was piercing through my skin was growing. I whimpered, hissed, stretched against it, but it only delved deeper and deeper by the hour, until finally I couldn't take it anymore. Desperate, I threw my weight to one side of the bench, then to the other, rocking back and forth. Here, I realized just how deep the article was in my back. I was rolling around on top of it like a greasy hinge, only opening the wound up further.

Finally, the bench toppled over to the right, but not before a sickening crack broke through the air. I fell with the bench, landing face first on the stone floor. Pain ripped through me, especially at my nose and back, and I looked up to see a bamboo stalk growing where I once lay.

_Make the plant grow around you,_ I thought bitterly. _I get it now_.

The idea wasn't to just to get a plant to_ grow_, but to make it _miss_ me while it was growing, manipulate the matter through visualization and make it turn somehow. Or maybe, if I had mastered the air element, I could've produced a wind and knocked it over or something. I don't really know.

"HEY!" I screamed towards the door. "HELP ME! HELP, I FELL!" No answer. "HEEEY!"

Taking a closer look at the stalk, I could see that the end had broken off. My gut surged, and I looked around on the floor for the broken piece, finding nothing. My back felt very cold. The pain was very dependent on my movement. It was better just to sit still, even though the weight of the bench was crushing my stomach. Dizzy, I decided to rest my head against the floor and wait.

As it turned out, the bamboo stalk had been so deeply embedded in my back then when I toppled the bench, the end snapped off and stayed jammed in my skin, swerving slightly to the left and just barely missing my spine, thank god. Incredibly sore, with blood saturating my shirt, I had expected Edea to have the piece of bamboo surgically removed from my body when she came in and released me. Instead, she said,

"Oh, no. You'll not be taking that out. Cut off the base as you will, but do not remove the end. I want your skin to heal over it."

The two asshole Beta officers accompanying her seemed unphased. They didn't even blink at the sight of the blood on the ground, or on the ropes.

I looked up at Edea, mortified, as she untied my hands. "Why?"

"You didn't sit still," Edea said sternly. "You cheated. I don't put up with cheaters. Let this be a lesson to you."

"Are you crazy, Empress?!" I protested. "Another hour and it would have gone through to my lung!" It was an exaggeration, but not by much. That's the sad part.

Edea grabbed at my arms, looking me in the face. "You think I would have let that happen?" she spat. "You think I would have put you in here just to kill you? Do you think I'm stupid? Huh?"

"No!"

She was vexed. There was no stopping her. She pulled me to my feet and went on.

"Your time limit was almost up. I was going to_ release_ you when the time was right and let you try again. Not anymore, though. You_ failed _this, Sydney. You won't be trying this test again."

Somehow that was relieving, but I didn't have time to recognize the feeling before Edea started ranting again.

"I don't understand! You were able to use your Limit Break before, and yet you've failed all of the elemental tests so far!" Grip tightening, she shook me, and I could only stare up at her, wide eyed, frozen with alarm. "What is this, little girl? Do you have some secret? Are you _mocking_ me? Is_ that _what this is all about?!"

My knees buckled and I drew closer to the ground. The only thing keeping me standing were Edea's strong hands.

"No, Empress!"

She raised the back of her hand as if to strike me, and I raised my hands above my head for protection, but the blow never fell. Instead, Edea turned to leave. "You will not have supper tonight!" she called over her shoulder. "Don't even think about coming down from your room, little girl!"

I was dumbstruck. I had never seen her like that before. Everyone knew that Edea was a little off her rocker, but I'd never actually seen her get so mad. At the time, I wasn't sure how to take this. Was I supposed to acknowledge the absurd punishment the bird woman was putting me through for "cheating," (which was a total crock of bull shit by itself) or was I to assume that this act of anger was just physical evidence of her humanity?

She was human, I realized. She had emotions, like anyone else; she could get angry. This, to me, said that Edea Kramer wasn't just an evil witch from a children's book. Edea was human – Edea could be killed.

Later, the same doctor that helped with my checkup determined that I had a concussion from the fall, which really didn't surprise me. Actually, it was kind of a relief. This meant that I wouldn't be doing tests for a few days. I could sit up in my room, maybe study for a while, or dance around like a moron. That sounded really nice.

Asuka helped me dress the wound on my back with disinfectant and bandages, along with this sticky stuff that made the bleeding stop. Whenever she touched the gash with the gauze, I winced away and she had to pull me back.

"Can't you just take it out? We don't have to tell her."

"Sit still," she demanded. "The more you move, the more it's going to hurt."

The affliction was worse now that we were upstairs, which I guess had to do with the adrenaline that had been pumping through my blood earlier. Every few seconds, waves of pain shot through the entire backside of my body, as if rippling out of the bamboo stalk. I closed my eyes and tried to wish it away. Edea couldn't possibly be serious. This punishment was practically medieval.

But the bamboo stayed in my back the next day, and the next day, until the skin around the scab turned purple with bruising.

Edea was getting her wish, and I felt sicker each day.

* * *

"_Can't you get an STD from that or something?"  
_"_...You're stupid."_


	21. Chapter 21

**The End - Then**

_Chel_

It was the end of my first week in the castle, so I felt that I had a bit of leverage to be just a little ballsy. My comrades were getting accustomed to my over-achieving when it came to my security duties. I was staying under the radar.

It was late, one in the morning to be exact, and in those days I was starting to notice my thoughts deviating from the norm whenever I became very tired.

That's my excuse for my questionable character in the scene that followed.

The door finally creaked open, and there stood Sydney. She had been crying. Somehow, I wasn't surprised. I was getting accustomed to this view - her cheeks sunken, her skin pale.

"Can I come in?" I asked.

She countered, "When did you get here?"

"Last week. I'm here full time with weekend off."

"Then why are you here? It's a Saturday."

We hadn't talked since the night in the quiet room. She was mad at me for something. Rejecting her romantic advances, maybe?

I made a side-step past her and into the simple, even bare bedroom. In the corner there was a dresser, a bed, and long, blue curtains hanging on the window. Did she even like blue?

One thing that caught my eye was a little, brown book with a strange lock sitting on her bed. Curious, I reached out for it, but she snatched it up, glaring at me.

I slid my hand in my pocket, trying to indicate that I wasn't interested enough to attempt wrenching it out of her hands. "What's that?"

"Private."

"Mm." Dropping the subject, I scanned the room with my eyes from top to bottom. "Are there taps in here?"

"Taps?"

"Wire taps," I explained, shrugging one shoulder for emphasis. "You know, people listening in on you."

Her face was a blank canvas, white as paper with no expression. I sighed, kicked off my shoes and stood up on the bed, checking the air vent. As an Omega, I had been taught how to set up taps and cameras when my higher ups needed them. I wasn't very good at it, but I knew how it was done. Just to make sure, I checked under the bed, in the curtains, in the closet... nothing.

Sydney closed the bedroom door and set the book down on the dresser.

"Anyway," I told her, "I just came with a message from your brother. He wanted me to let you know that the Patriots are going strong. Our head count has doubled... I can barely keep up with the match demand."

The point in telling her that was to get her to smile, but my efforts fell flat.

"Is that all he said?"

"Also said that he loves you. The kid's becoming an icon, you know. Everyone knows his name."

"Zane?"

I cracked my knuckles, going through the names I knew in my head in search of "Zane." That was the redheaded kid, right? Simon had said something about him once before. He was one of the first to get captured. Of course, I wasn't about to tell Sydney that. It'd just make her cry again.

"Haven't seen him," I finally said. "Or anybody besides your brother, for that matter."

Sydney sat down on the bed, arms folded. Her movement was very restricted. "Will I get to see you more often now?" she asked.

"Maybe," I replied, lowering my voice. I wasn't entirely sure where she was going with that question. "I guess that depends on how well we both behave with Edea. Have you found anything out yet?"

The girl was quiet for a moment, long enough for me to sit down next to her. She didn't seem too worried by the gesture. "I-I don't-" Stammering, she shook her head. "She's crazy. I mean- there's nothing more to it. She _enjoys_ watching people suffer. I don't even..."

"What did she do to you?"

She looked up at me, her face sharp, eyes swelling slightly. "I don't think I should tell you."

"Tell me."

"I shouldn't."

"Sydney."

I bit my tongue as her face changed. She rose and started tugging her shirt over her shoulders. It was all very quick. Caught by surprise, I swallowed my breath, jerked forward and grabbed at the fabric, trying to keep it below her belly button. "Sydney, what are you doing?"

Her eyes met mine. "I'm telling you what she did to me. You asked."

"Syd-"

"Don't be a putz."

Yeah, that's right. The sixteen year old was telling _me_, the responsible adult, not to be a "putz," as if she were pressuring _me_ into letting her strip, into memorizing the bends and folds of her grey bra strap. She was sixteen. Just a kid. What the fuck was I even doing, sitting there with my mouth hanging open like some sexually starved fish?

Her middle was laced with bandaging that she didn't hesitate to tear off. The inner side of the wrapping was thickly painted with yellow, crusted pus, but it was the wound itself that made me the most uncomfortable. So this wasn't about showing some skin after all.

A small bump protruded from Sydney's flesh, greenish-brown underneath a very thin, yellow scab, with the redness of irritation swarming the perimeter of the injury.

On one hand I kind of wanted to poke it. On the other, I was too grossed out.

"Christ," I breathed, "the fuck is _that?"_

"It's a piece of bamboo," Sydney murmured. Could have fooled me. The thing looked like a tumor at first glance. "Edea said she wanted it to 'become a part of me.'" She held her shirt up to her chest. "It's punishment. For cheating."

"Cheating..." Oh man.

"Can you cut it out?"

She looked straight into my face. I waited for the punchline.

"You want me to cut it out," I repeated with disbelief when the end of the joke never came. "When she told you not to. Are you insane?"

"My maid won't do it. She's too afraid to cross Edea. I can't do it myself, Chel, I might cut too deep. Please, it hurts so much... I can't lay down properly and it keeps bleeding. I'm going to get an infection."

Truth be told, it was long infected already. That much was obvious.

"I'm no surgeon," I told her. "I never signed up for this."

"Please."

I didn't want to. I could've gotten fired over this, or worse, put into Intensive Care at the Home. Yet there she was, her face - the face of a kid - all pouty and pleading, her voice whispy and secretive, with me and no one else. There was a part of me that was ready to walk away, but Sydney was a tempest, a snake in the garden that had me by the nuts.

It didn't take much for me to give in.

"Fine. Go get some new bandages and meet me back here in a few minutes. Make sure you aren't seen."

* * *

About ten minutes after our little exchange, Sydney stood leaning over the dresser, holding her head in her hands. We gave it fifteen minutes for the valium to set in, but I was already starting to lose her by the time I made the first incision with my pocket knife. I felt gross, like I was doing some sort of back-alley plastic surgery, and that she would wake up the next morning severely deformed.

The blade ran through her skin like dough, blood pooling at the cuts. I dabbed the red liquid away with a wet washcloth every few seconds, determined to make sure none of it fell to the carpet. Every once in a while, she would let out a moan, possibly from the pain, but possibly because she couldn't feel anything at all. Period.

I'd given her a full pill, just to make sure. Most adults couldn't stay on their feet with half of one.

Eventually, I went deep enough with the knife so that I was able to pinch the piece of the bamboo stalk and slowly tug it out with my fingers. She whimpered, but I didn't let up. The salt on my skin probably stung a great deal, but I knew that the longer this took, the better the chances of us getting caught.

Once the intolerable thing was finally out, I wiped off my hands and sealed the incisions with one quick bandage, medicated with a basic disinfectant used for small scrapes. Better than nothing, right? Like I said, I'm no surgeon. I never have been, never will be.

"Wake up early tomorrow," I told the drooling girl. "Make sure you can catch a shower before anyone knows you're up."

In response, she tried to stand and only ended up leaning against me, her head falling from side to side and eventually settling in between my neck and my shoulder. I eventually took responsibility, ditching the bamboo shard in a nearby trash can and helping her over to her bed, having to go so far as to lift her legs up for her.

"Are you okay?" I asked.

"Tired," she slurred. "Gotterr... sleep..." Her head rolled forwards, then backwards again. She blinked her watery eyes and stared at me, half-conscious.

Allowing myself to sit next to her on the mattress, I was suddenly compelled by an idea that had never crossed me so severely before: the desire to protect her. The need to have her in close company. It was overwhelming, more so because I'd never thought of her in this manner before.

These thoughts were invasive. They weren't my own.

I know that for certain, simply because my own feelings were buzzing about how pathetic she looked, how meekly she whimpered and sighed, how I knew she couldn't fight me off even if she wanted to.

My mind was far too preoccupied with her body's weakened state to give two shits about her safety.

Whose thoughts were these, then, if not my own?

Sixteen, I kept reminding myself. She was only sixteen. She'd probably never even kissed a boy before, let alone dropped her pants for one.

Yet at the same time, hadn't I just put my job on the line for her? Didn't she owe me something in return?

I leaned forward.

She was sixteen. Sixteen and in love with me.

My hands wandered to her face. She looked at me with glossed pupils.

It was wrong, but she wanted me just as badly. Once upon a time, she had literally thrown herself at me. She wanted it, and she was right there. I could have given it to her - I could have given her everything she wanted, and she wouldn't even remember in the morning. It could have been my bittersweet secret.

Caught up in the moment, I had myself convinced that there was no turning back up until I realized how unresponsive she was to my kiss. She hadn't even closed her eyes; she just laid there, her lips parting in sequence with mine, her unfocused hues turned towards the ceiling.

Like she didn't even want me.

Shuddering with a mix of desire and shame, I got up, charging for the door and leaving her.

"Chel," she called.

"Shower tomorrow."

_Shower_, I thought, _to get the evidence me off of your skin._

I closed the door and marched down the hall, lamenting. I had lost control, I realized. It was highly unprofessional. This wasn't going to benefit the cause of the Patriots, and so it wasn't worth the risk. Besides, this longing I felt was purely physical. If I'd tried getting involved with her, she would have become emotionally attached, and that was the last thing I wanted.

_Sixteen._

It became my mantra for the remainder of my time there.

_Sixteen._

* * *

_"...So you _were _interested in my sister!"  
"Not in the same way she was to me..."  
"I knew it! I knew it, I knew it!"  
"Shhh! Jesus, will you keep it down? I don't need her knowing about this!"_


	22. Chapter 22

**AN: **This was originally the "man in the box" chapter, and it deals with the same character, but given the changes I've made to the timeline, I had to change this entire section. Which really sucks, because writing from his point of view is pretty fun.

**The End – Then**

_Sydney_

My first warning sign should have been the smell in the room. It reeked of sweat and iron. The second probably could've been the smeared, faded red around the man's mouth, or maybe even the way his white coat didn't seem to fit well enough on his shoulders. He did seem a bit young to be a doctor.

The Secret Admirer was a name given to a serial killer that was running around Endsville at the time. It was kind of low key, I only ever heard about him because Edea seemed genuinely frightened of him coming on to the premises. He was given the nickname because whenever he killed someone, he tore open their chest cavities and cut out their hearts.

Sick, right?

The Secret Admirer was never caught, at least not as far as I know since he disappeared all together after a few months, but I think if I'd reported what had happened to me that day, he might have been.

Edea eventually came to her senses and decided that the whole bamboo punishment was way over the top. She never apologized, but she did send me to the infirmary with Chel as my chaperone.

The infirmary was empty, and the doctor was sitting by himself at his desk in the corner, picking at his teeth. He certainly wasn't the same doctor that had given me my physical examination. In fact, I was certain I'd never seen him before in my life. At first, he didn't even look up at us. Chel had to knock on the computer monitor in order to get his attention. He seemed lost in some sort of deep pool of thought.

"What is it?" he asked in a cranky, I-didn't-get-enough-sleep sort of voice.

"Empress's orders," Chel replied in a similar tone, as if the two of them held some sort of unspoken disdain for each other. "Take a look at the wound on this girl's back."

The doctor looked at us only briefly before going back to his tooth pick. Apparently the pink chunk on the end of it was far more interesting than we were. "Name?" he asked.

"I _said_ Empress's orders," Chel pressed. "Her name doesn't matter to you. Just get the job done."

At this, the man's eyes lifted with interest, and he smirked. I finally got a good glimpse at his face, and noted the deep scar dividing his two blue eyes. Curiosity took its hold, but I kept my mouth shut.

"Pushy," the man said, rising from his seat. "I was only being polite."

_That's your idea of polite? _I thought.

His eyes fell on me, and I stood up straight. "What seems to be the problem?"

"I have an open wound on my back," I told him. "It needs stitches."

"And antibiot-"

The doctor threw up a hand to silence Chel.

"I was talking to the girl. Thank you."

Chel threw a dirty look at me. "Let me know when you're done. I'll be outside."

Of course I didn't want him to leave, and so I followed him with my eyes down the two rows of empty hospital beds and all the way back to the door.

The doctor wasted no time once we were alone. He stepped out from behind his desk, fidgeting with the stethoscope around his neck. There was no name tag on his jacket, I noted. In fact there was a rectangular imprint that was whiter than the rest of the fabric where one had been pinned before. Another red flag. All the same, he smiled at me, and I watched the scar on his nose as he spoke.

"Please, sit down."

He motioned towards one of the beds (all of them were empty), and I sat while he crossed over to a dresser chalked full of medical supplies. I assumed he must have been new, because he went through four different drawers before he finally found what he was looking for. Warning sign number four.

We didn't make small talk. He had me lay down on my stomach and take off my shirt. I guess I ought to give him credit for his handiwork. If anything, he knew what he was doing. In fact he might have been a real doctor at some point.

"Yes, this is deep," he said, dabbing a bit of ointment on the angry slash, making me wince. "How on Earth did such a small thing like you come across something like this?"

"Just messing around," I answered.

"You're a regular devil child, aren't you?" There was enthusiasm in his voice. "This will probably hurt. Just try to stay still."

To this day, I'm not sure if I was a special case, or if he treated all of his targets the way he treated me. Did he give everyone else the same careful precision? I'm not saying it was sweet or anything, just that it was strangely gentle for a psychopath. I nearly fell asleep while he was stitching me up. In fact, I didn't even know the needle had gone in at the first incision until he told me so. I always think about the ghostly nature of his hands and wonder why he didn't try to choke me, or why he didn't jam the needle so far into my wound that I screamed, especially after the weird behavior that followed.

When all was said and done, I sat up while he shuffled around, explaining my dosage and how often I had to take my capsules. It would definitely scar, he said. But we caught the infection itself early enough.

Just as I was grabbing for my shirt, I felt something cold press up against my collar bone, and I shrieked. Somehow without my noticing, he had snaked his hand beneath my arm with that god awful stethoscope, and was holding it to my chest from behind. I was uncomfortable with the strangeness of the situation, but I didn't take any action at the time. He was a doctor, right? Then again, wasn't he supposed to check my vitals before the initial treatment? Why now?"

"Hold still," he whispered. "And don't breathe so deeply."

Surprised, I blinked and closed my mouth. When the doctor's forehead dropped to my shoulder, and his free hand gripped my forearm, I became concerned.

"Hey-"

"Shhh. You're going to scare it away."

"Scare what away?"

"Your heart beat. It's fleeting, isn't it-?" I didn't understand what he meant, but he sounded far, far away, as though he were walking through a dream and I just so happened to be a part of it. He took in a long breath through his nose, then breathed out, "You smell nice."

That was when I lost it. Grunting, I grabbed at his hands, tried to throw them off, and squirmed. He held me tight, though, and only pressed the metal stethoscope deeper into my flesh.

"That's what I like to hear," he hissed. "Devil child."

It was then that I managed to break away from him. I pushed him back as hard as I could, and he collided with his desk, laughing a loud, a sinister laugh that rose and fell from the ceiling to the floor.

I sprinted for the exit as I pulled my shirt over my shoulders. Bolting from the room, I staggered into the hallway, nearly colliding with Chel, who stood just outside, like he'd said he would be. He caught me by my arms before I could run off.

"Hey, hey!" he exclaimed. "Easy! What's the matter?"

Really, I didn't know what to say. I wasn't sure if I'd been sexually assaulted or just harassed by some creep with a lab coat. I probably could have gotten him into a lot of trouble for either one, especially with Edea, but something froze in me, and instead I heard myself saying, "Just dizzy. Pain killers."

Chel's expression said that he didn't believe me, but he remained silent all the same.

"I forgot my pills. Will you get them for me?"

For the remainder of the time it took for the stitches to dissolve, I was a nervous wreck. Every time I undressed I had to double check my surroundings to make sure no one was watching.

I overheard some days afterwords that the real doctor, the one Edea had hired, was found underneath his desk a few hours later, heartless. Literally. The head of security opted to tighten things around the castle, but Edea dismissed the idea.

"He won't be bothering us again," was all she said.

* * *

"_Sydney!"  
__"What?"  
__"Why the hell didn't you report that?!"  
_"_I don't know, it just seemed kind of pointless, what with everything that was going on."  
_"_Pointless!__ I swear, if I ever find the guy, I'll kill him!"_


	23. Chapter 23

**The End - Then**

_Sydney_

You're probably thinking that holding your breath is no big deal – that you, personally, could make the oxygen in your lungs last long enough to break a glass window. Well, if you're still that deluded after you step into the ice box, I'd say you need some serious help.

I don't remember waking up or even stepping out of bed. I don't remember anyone feeding me the pills, but I could feel its numbing effects wearing off and the stomach cramps starting to settle in. This was one of my worst nightmares come to life. For a second, all I could do was lay there, freezing, and afraid.

Something hit my forehead: a single drop of water from the ceiling. A shudder ripped through my entire body that made me jerk awake and into a sitting position. My arms and fingers were stiff. Everything hurt.

The chamber was small, about the size of a walk-in closet, and its walls were, as you might have already gathered, built from solid ice that was melting very slowly. Another droplet fell from above, hitting me on the cheek, stinging.

"Cold…"

A streak of black crossed in front of me, and without looking I was able to deduct that it was Edea standing on the other side of the wall. She hadn't warned me that a new test was in order, and neither did Rinoa. In the diary entry I had read the night before, she only wrote one word:

**December 15****th****, AE40**  
_Done._

Which said to me that she had passed this test. Hopefully, I would too.

I slowed my thoughts and tried not to panic. "Okay, Sydney," I whispered to myself. "Focus. You can do this."

"Good morning, sleepy-head," Edea offered. Her voice was muffled. It was here that I realized there were tiny holes in the ice walls, for air.

Shaking, I stood up, rubbing my arms. My shirt stuck to my back with moisture and my butt was soaked. I had to wonder how long I had been laying there. "New test?"

"New test," Edea confirmed. Her painted lips smiled, but the foggy glimmer in her eyes warned of danger. "The usual rules apply: manipulate your environment to find a way out."

"How long do I have?"

But the lady in black did not answer. Instead she turned and crossed to the other side of the dungeon slash wine cellar. Two Beta officers stood by the door. Chel was one of them. Naturally.

Grimacing, I set my palm against one of the walls. The cold sent shards of metal through my arm.

_Gotta think. Sleepy. Probably from the cold._

I raked my fingers through my hair and smacked my cheeks.

_Stay awake. Stay awake, Sydney_.

There were no doors in the chamber, obviously. Just ice. Ice, and the air holes. I opened my mouth and let out a breath on one of the small openings to see if it would melt from the warmth, even just a little bit. No such luck. Not even a glimmer. In fact, to my horror, it seemed to be getting smaller, closing up.

Convinced that I was hallucinating, I shook my head and focused, standing still for a solid minute to watch the niche more closely. It wasn't long before my terrors were confirmed. This was another suffocation test. Pass, or pass out. Pick your poison.

Cold sweat pooled at my hairline. "Empress," I called. "Please—please stop. Whatever you're doing, please stop. I'm not ready for this test."

No response. She just looked at me.

_Eyes,_ I told myself. _Look at her EYES!_

"Empress for God's sake!" No response. "Edea, PLEASE!"

It may be a little weird in retrospect, but I think this was the first time I ever really called Edea's name. In all of our exchanges beforehand, she was just "Empress." You see, when someone wants something from me and I'm angry with them, I hate it when they use my name, because it makes me feel like they're putting me on a humanistic level that I haven't achieved in my fury. It makes me feel sorry, like I'm obligated to give in to their demands.

But not with Edea Kramer. No, never with Edea Kramer.

The round slots in the ice were getting smaller, faster. Soon, I knew they would be gone. Desperate, I pounded my hands against the wall, electricity rushing through my wrists from the cold. My head felt heavy, my chest tightening from within.

What else could I do? Rinoa hadn't left me any hints. Not one clue! It was just me there, all by myself. This was up to me, and I didn't have much time. The walls were just made of ice. Frozen water. The only thing standing between me and victory was a wall of _frozen water_.

Soon, I fainted.

* * *

Unsurprisingly, the test was repeated as soon as I woke up. Three times total, with no resting period. No breaks. If not for Chel still standing at the door, I might have thought that a few days had passed. Had I known any better at the time?

We were at the fourth trial, and I could barely see straight. My gut was burning, my limbs were stiff. Pain racked my entire body, and all I could think of was taking a hot shower and going to bed.

Couldn't see. Couldn't sleep. Couldn't breathe.

Then suddenly, interrupting my thoughts, the most horrible sound.

_Skreeeeeeeee._

My eyes shot open, and my head shot up. Edea had one of her claw-like nails scraping down the perfectly cut slab. She was speaking to me, but it was very warbled, like listening to music underwater.

"You're not even trying anymore!" she shouted. "What am I wasting my time for?"

"I don't know…"

My teeth and tongue felt hot. Making them form clear, coherent words was a test of valor in of itself.

"I know you have power, Sydney. Now use it, or I'm leaving you in here, and you will die. You won't have another chance to prove yourself. You will die."

Her phrase kept repeating over and over again in my head_. I know you have power, Sydney._ But then it changed_. Sydney. Rinoa. You have power, Rinoa. Use it. Use your power, Rinoa_.

Then, without warning, the same voice I heard during my first meditation that called itself "Endsville" filled the entire room. Or at least, that's the way it sounded to me.

"_I'll take care of this, Sydney,"_ the voice said. _"Just lend me your body for a minute. This might hurt."_

If I was hallucinating, it was damn vivid.

My eyelids came down, and warm air rushed into my lungs. I felt stone against my cheek, like the dungeon floor. Everything was fuzzy. I couldn't see. All I remember thinking was, _Did I get out? Did I win?_

I was shaking.

"Filthy, disgusting cheater," Edea's voice rang in my ears. "I guess the bamboo in your back wasn't lesson enough."

Had I lost? Passed? Failed?

"Chel, fetch Asuka."

* * *

I had blacked out again, but not for very long.

I awoke to the sound of frantic scraping, and when I opened my eyes I saw the maid on her knees in front of a wheeled, yellow bucket, scrubbing vigorously at the floor.

Chel took me by the arm and helped get up on my knees. Had he been there the whole time? I thought about thanking him, but I had the feeling he wasn't really there to help me. He was just following orders, like a good lapdog, and I understood.

Edea's arms folded firmly over her chest. The floor was a little wet with something dark and red. Blood, from a wound on my head that I hadn't realized was there. I learned later that my forehead had busted open when I fell forward from the chamber.

I had also peed on the floor.

My hand was swelling, and it was a little scraped up. It looked like there was a blister forming in my palm. The northern wall of the ice chamber lay in large, disappearing chunks on the floor, like someone had taken an enormous hammer to the walls. I'm still not exactly sure how it happened, but Edea had said I was "cheating," so I suppose it had something to do with me. What had I done? Blasted through it with fire or something?

No. Couldn't have been... She had congratulated me for my Limit Break before, hadn't she?

"All right, cheater, see the mess you made?"

Piss and blood on the floor. Hard to miss.

Still, Asuka kept scrubbing away. She repeatedly dipped a rag in the water and rinsed it out. Dip, rinse. Dip, rinse. I wondered if she was that thorough with everything she did around the castle. Was that why she was tired all the time?

"It wasn't me," I slurred. "It was—" Who could I blame? Endsville? Rinoa?

_Was_ it Rinoa? Had she possessed me or something? That didn't make any sense!

The room was silent. Chel held me in place when I tried to stand.

"I'm done," Asuka said.

Edea wasted no time. She kicked the yellow bucket and it rolled over to me, not a drop out of place. I could see the rag twisting slowly in its dark depths like a drowned rat. There was a thin scrum of soap gathering around the edges. The smell turned my insides.

The Empress crossed over and knelt down beside me, and in a soft voice she said, "Drink it."

I looked straight ahead, avoiding her gaze, assuming she couldn't be serious. It was too absurd, even for her. "No way."

"I said, drink it!" she sneered.

She grasped the rim of the bucket and jerked it forward. I tried to pull back, but she seized my neck and held me firm. Ugh god, just thinking about the smell…

"You made a mess," she said in a low tone, "now clean it up. This is your punishment for cheating."

Is getting possessed really considered cheating?! What the hell happened?!

I tried to turn my head to look away, but Edea yanked on my hair, making me yelp. The bucket rolled back and forth in its place, the water swaying in waves with it. No matter how much I fussed, I couldn't get it to spill. My arms felt rubbery, nearing numbness.

She must have figured out my plan. With one final roar – "DRINK IT!" – she forcefully guided my head forward.

I had anticipated her move, though. As I felt my head being forced down, I closed my eyes and clamped my mouth shut. My nose struck first, plunging my entire face into the soapy depths. I threw my hands up and tried to pry myself out of her grip. I twisted from side to side with all of my strength, but she was too powerful. No matter what the rest of my body did to object, she managed to keep my head down in the bucket.

Seconds passed like hours before she pulled me up, just inches above the surface, but I was right back down before I could suck in a decent breath. My face hit the water and I parted my lips to scream, only to swallow a mouthful, and then another. Large bubbles flew from my gaping mouth.

Despite everything, I found myself in a state of self-loathing for not passing the test. Even though I knew I hadn't, I was starting to believe Edea when she said that I had cheated. I deserved this – I deserved to die with cleaning products in my lungs.

Edea tugged me up by the hair again, water running like a faucet from my bangs. I coughed, spit up some of the liquid. My stomach hitched and I made a thick, unintentional sound.

"If you throw up, you'll drink that too," Edea whispered. "It's not so bad like this, is it? But if you want to add to it, go right ahead…"

The Empress really was devoid of any mercy. She sent me back down, and by then I had grown too exhausted to struggle. I gave up. Part of me groaned, but none of me hesitated as I took up the water in big gulps, filling my stomach and concentrating very hard on not throwing up.

Fuck, man. You couldn't get a dog to drink that shit.

A shrill voice suddenly cut through what was once silence. "Stop! Empress, please stop!"

Edea released me, and it took most of my remaining strength to lift myself up and out of the filthy bucket. I sat back on my ass, tasting grit and plaster in my mouth and throat, and let out a loud burp. Chel looked down on my dispassionately_. Let him, _I thought. It wasn't Chel that called out for me, so I didn't care.

Edea slid her foot forward and rose like an elegant lady ought to. The skirt of her dress was a little wrinkled. Wrinkled and wet, which was my doing. It seemed out of character. I wanted to smile, but I didn't.

"Asuka," Edea hissed, "do you have something to say about how I treat my apprentice?"

"It's inhumane." Asuka stood off at somewhat of a distance, her arms drawn close to her body, her head held high. None of us in the room envied her in that moment. "I don't understand your methods, Empress. For god's sake, she's bleeding…"

And that was when I caught on to the stinging on my forehead. I glimpsed into the bucket and saw a light red ring floating around the rag.

Chel became noticeably tense, but he didn't leave his post at my side. I thought of him as a fly that needed to be swatted away.

Edea's face went blank. "Do you mean to say that you have a better way?" she inquired. "I had no idea you were trained in the dark arts. After all, you are just a maid." She threw a silky, gloved hand in my direction, making me wince. "Go on, then. Take her. I want her moving ice molecules in one week."

"Forgive me, Empress. I didn't mean…"

"I know you didn't. Don't make that mistake again."

Asuka bowed her head and held the door open for Edea when she went to leave. The Empress cast me one final, foul glance and told the maid at her side, "Get the girl upstairs. Straight to bed. No supper." Then, after a short pause, she added, "And give her a sedative."

Her final order frightened me, but it was also the only thing which brought me any comfort.

* * *

"_So… Chel."  
"Yeah?"  
"Edea was drowning my sister. And you were... doing what again?"  
"—Can we not got here?"_


	24. Chapter 24

**The End – Then**

_Sydney_

"Get off me."

I shook myself out of Asuka's grip and threw my body at the bed, face first. She closed the door, cutting us off from the outside world.

"Sydney-"

"Please just get out of my room!"

"Sydney!"

She grabbed my arms. Her hands were warm. But then, everything was warm. She pulled me up and shook me a bit. I could barely see, but I knew she was fuming.

I couldn't think. I couldn't focus. I couldn't feel sorry for her, for having to deal with me.

I didn't want to cry. My body was doing that without me. I guess that was becoming habitual. Programmed. Just part of the hardware.

"Damn it, kid!" Asuka cried. "I need to know! Are you serious, or not?!"

"Of course I'm serious! I'm getting out of here! I can't take more of her stupid games! She's INSANE!"

"Sydney, I promise you, if you pass this next test..."

"NO MORE TESTS!"

I threw my hands up and pulled away. The whole world was moving too fast. My cap had burst.

"If I pass the test, if I learn her magic, or whatever, what happens to me, Asuka? Do I go out and kill people for her?! Is she training me to do what she does?! Am I going to take another girl from her home and suffocate her, too?! I don't want to be like her! I don't want to be a SORCERESS!"

Asuka's expression had cemented. "Sydney, please calm down. I don't want to have to drug you."

Guess I really shouldn't have been surprised hearing it come out of her mouth. Of course. That was the solution of this whole crazy world.

I sat down on the bed and pulled the pillow over my face. I thought maybe she'd go away if I couldn't see her. Otherwise I might just suffocate again. Then they'd give me drugs to feel better.

Drugs, drugs, drugs...

"I'm running away," I told her again. "I already decided that a long time ago."

Which was a lie. I hadn't decided on anything until the ice box.

Asuka pulled the pillow away and made me look at her. "Sydney listen to me. They have Zane."

It didn't hit me at first, but when it did, everything froze.

Zane. They have Zane. Sydney listen to me. They have Zane.

"...What?"

Asuka's face relaxed. "He was arrested for arson. I had hoped to tell you after the next test, so that you would have a clear head."

I sat up. "How long have you known?"

"A while."

My palms were damp. My lips were numb. I thought maybe I would faint.

"Are you okay?

"No."

"You look pale." She reached for me again, but I moved away. "Sydney, come on."

"Don't touch me, please."

"You didn't let me finish."

Asuka brushed off her hands on her skirt and sat with me at the foot of the bed. My nails were looking pretty appetizing.

I wished Asuka would leave. Rinoa's diary was hidden underneath the mattress. So far, even Asuka hadn't seen it. Maybe it would have advice for me, a little how-to on dealing with the loss of your best friend to a homicidal politician.

The maid continued, "His mother pleaded for his life. He was sent to the Home in exchange for his sister's arrest."

I looked up.

"The Home..." That meant he was alive! Alive! "What was Gwen arrested for?"

Asuka shakes her head. "Possession." Huh? "Lighter." Oh.

"I guess it had to happen eventually."

"Yeah," Asuka replied. "She... she got away though. I think she's at the mill. As for Zane: if you cooperate, the Empress plans to recruit him as an Omega. If you don't, I don't want to think of what could happen."

Ah. "So you're holding him hostage."

"Not me."

Asuka flattened a hand to her chest, right over her heart. I thought of ripping it out. Maybe I could be the new not-so-secret-admirer.

"Sydney, listen. You're not exactly supposed to know about this. I'm going to beg you, for that boy's sake, don't let on that I told you. Or I might..."

She stopped herself.

She might what? Get fired? Take a nice little trip to the theater, like so many before her?

"Fine."

But I knew it wasn't her fault. Asuka answered to the Omega, who answered to the Betas, who answered to Edea, who answered to... well, Edea. It all dribbled back to Edea.

But something didn't make sense. If I wasn't supposed to know about Zane, how had Asuka found out?Just a simple maid?

Maybe I wasn't being fair.

"I won't tell anyone. And I won't run away, either."

Asuka patted my knee. "Thank you."

"Don't. I'm not doing this for you. Now please just get out_."_

* * *

_"She really wasn't all that bad, y'know..."_


	25. Chapter 25

**The End – Then**

_Chel_

I was late.

We had agreed: midnight in the lobby under the grandfather clock. By the time I'd finally managed get away from the middle aged officer in the locker room – going on about his stupid kids getting sent to the Home or something, I honestly wasn't paying attention – the digital clock on the wall already read twelve seventeen.

By that time I was considering ditching out on my contact and waiting until the next week. If I wasn't at my car in ten minutes, I wouldn't be able to get to town that weekend. There was something back home that I needed to take care of, and even though it was filling me with urgency that night, I can't remember what had me so on edge. Maybe I was just desperate for a day off.

I went to the staircase in the lobby. A dark silhouette stood at the very bottom, face in the shadows. There was no light to illuminate the room, just moon in the overhead windows. The figure was short in stature with a wide bust and dark hair that fell just above her round hips. Her waist and wrists were lean, and her skirt covered her ankles. She extended her neck and scanned the room.

I was about to descend when the figure dropped to the floor. In the bleary light, I saw her worn hands pull back the red rug on the ground to reveal the stone floor beneath. She checked over her shoulder and then moved one of the stones aside. It scraped against the ground; a doorway to our secrets.

She shuffled and began stuffing things down her shirt. I snickered. Did she really have _room _in there?

Bating my breath, I took two careful steps down the stairwell. She heard me and jumped, turning to face me. We stared at each other in the dark for a second or two before I raised my hand to steady her nerves.

"Asuka," I whispered into the darkness. "It's me."

The dark haired girl sighed and rose from the floor. We met at the bottom of the steps. She held some things against her bosom: a small stack of unopened envelopes held together with a rubber band, a red box of 250 Kroger brand kitchen matches, and a small nylon bag full of rattling medicine.

I noted that there was no tobacco.

Asuka was always a genius smuggler. The best I've ever known, and I've known a few. She was low profile and good at her job.

"This is all I could get," Asuka said.

"You did wonderful."

We started loading the goods into my jacket. The letters went up one sleeve, the matchbox to the other. The nylon bag (much to my dismay) was shoved into the front of my pants. Nobody was going to search me, but that didn't give us an excuse to get careless. We both knew that no one was going to look at my junk.

"This will go to the Mill," I said.

"It's still safe?"

"Oh, yeah. That's where we've been meeting. Nobody suspects it. The place doesn't even run anymore so no one wants to buy it."

I readjusted my belt.

"Simon thinks we're ready for our first attack." Even I was surprised by my enthusiasm. "We want to rob the storehouse here."

"Yes, I know," Asuka said. "You've told me twice."

The storehouse was a shed separate from the castle. Most people didn't even know about it because it was on the southern end, facing the open wilderness of the mountain above rather than the city below. It served no purpose then, but one of my assignments later that week was to stock it up with some confiscated fire power – i.e., lighters and bottles of kerosene, match boxes and flares, even a few fireworks and cigarettes. I was thinking about taking some of it for myself, but I didn't know if someone would mark what was missing, so I knew I'd have to wait until Edea forgot about it.

"Did you get the key copied?" I asked.

"Yes. Edea thinks she has the only one."

Asuka put a small box into my back pocket.

In the midst of my fumbling, playing with the idea that she was just looking for an excuse to touch my butt, Asuka said, "You didn't help her today."

And my fantasy was pretty much shattered. "What?"

"The girl. You didn't help her today. She needed your help."

"Oh, this."

"She's with us, isn't she? She's a good girl. She doesn't even want to be here."

"Think I don't know that?"

This was routine by now. I felt like I was going through the motions.

"I can only do so much," she told me. "Your schedule is much more lenient. Don't you think you could-?"

"She's not my responsibility. Why do things always have to come back to her, anyway?"

I tried to leave, but Asuka blocked my way out. She fastened the last two buttons on my jacket, near the neck. It was cold out that night. January was right around the corner. Perhaps realizing that her voice carried, Asuka dropped her voice to a whisper and asked, "You love her, don't you?"

"No."

"Not like that. Not like a lover. I just mean that you love her."

Still no, but I knew Asuka wouldn't drop it. "I guess. Sydney is my best friend's little sister."

"You love her, and yet you won't help her. Why?" She had asked me this question a few times, but I had never answered. "You say Edea doesn't scare you-"

"She doesn't."

"Why then? Why do you let the girl suffer?"

I sighed with frustration, unbuttoning the top button on the jacket, just to defy her. It looked stupid done up, anyway.

"I need to watch it."

Thinking about it made my chest heavy, but the cork in my mouth that usually kept the bull shit from flowing had already popped off.

"I need to watch her suffer. It's the only way I can feel."

"You're just gutless."

"Exactly. That's my point. I'm gutless, and it's put me in a lot of bad positions. Me, and others." Simon, Sydney, even Asuka herself. Couldn't she see? "I'm going crazy with guilt, but it's something. It's a feeling."

She just stared at me for a long time, shaking her head. "Oh, Chel."

Asuka went to leave, but stopped, eyes full of fury.

"That girl is not enduring anything for you," she said. "Neither is Simon, and neither is anybody else. Not me, not anyone. I'm a Patriot too, you know, and I know that we do what we do for _Endsville._ Not for ourselves, and certainly not for you. Find your feelings somewhere else, Chel."

The grandfather clock in the nearby parlor struck twelve thirty and began to chime.

* * *

"_..."_


	26. Chapter 26

**The End – Then**

Sydney

The rules are slightly more complicated than before, because this is your last chance, and you're going to need a little more than an activation trial to prove yourself. Sit in a sealed room with no windows and a steel door with a spinning numerical lock. You've never been told the combination, it is hidden between the covers of the six hundred page book before you, and the only light you have to read with is condensed to a single box of matches.

If you can not find the combination, the lady who put you here will leave you in this room, and you will die.

Okay. This one was a little hard, but I passed if you can believe it.

My eyes never adjusted. The entire room was black – darker than black – and the first thing I did was scout out for the door. Three blank walls, only one with a way out. I felt around for the lock. It was just a simple little thing with a spindle that clicked when I turned it. I thought about trying to break it off, but that would be cheating.

Soap...

The tiny matchbox was in my pocket when I woke up. I counted the sticks inside. Twenty matches, about twelve centimeters long. Each match would burn for about two minutes, maybe three if I put them on the floor.

Meaning, I had about half an hour to read six hundred pages... or at least, find the combination.

I sat down and struck the first match. Its light did not stretch very far, but I was able to catch the title of the book. _To Jericho: A Guide to Perfect Submission and Perfect Servitude._

_Trying to prove a point there, Edea? _I thought.

I flipped through, skimmed. Found the first number about two matches in and nearly had a heart attack.

_When you march up to attack a city, make its p**e**ople an offer of peace. **I**f they accept and open their **g**ates, all of the people in it s**h**all be subjected to forced laborand shall work for you. If they refuse to make peace and they engage you in battle, lay siege to that ci**t**y._

The letters were outlined with thick, black pen. Eight.

The matches were going fast, and I was starting to panic. Bookmarking my place with my finger, I went through the pages quickly, squinting in the dark for the next set of bold letters. The third match burned my finger tips and I dropped it. The book nearly caught fire, but I managed to pat it out with my hand in quick time so that it left only a small, brown mark in between the two open pages. I sighed with relief at the minimal extent of the damage, wondering how I was going to get out with only nine matches left.

Things were just starting to suck when I got an idea. Probably the best idea in my life, in fact.

I tore the first page from the spine and crumpled it up into the shape of a cone. Then I struck one of the matches on the floor and lit the wide end of the paper on fire. A torch.

I remember thinking, _I can make this work_.

However, I knew that if I was going to do this, I would have to read each individual page in case I accidentally burned a number. In other words, whether I liked it or not, I was subjected to Extreme Collectivism 101.

_**F**__or it was __**o**__nce said... Men, s__**u**__bmit to your wives as to the Emp__**r**__ess of all things good, the Holy Mother. For the wife is __**t**__he head of the hous__**e**__ as the Mother is the head of the coun__t__ry, of which sh__**e **__is the savior. __**N**__ow as the church and the country submits to the Mother, so also men should submit to their wives_.

To keep the light going I burned the pages as I devoured them, and when I came across a number I etched it into the ground with the charred ends of the burnt out matches. I burned the front and back covers of _Jericho_, I burned the matchbox itself, I burned my socks. I took off my shirt and I burned that, too.

_The sun will be darkened, and the moon will not give its light; the stars will fall from the sky, and the heavenly bodies will be shaken... They will see the Holy Mother coming on the clouds of the sky, with power and great glory... I tell you the truth, this generation will certainly not pass away until all these things have happened._

Eventually, after what I later learned was a full span of three hours, there were no pages left.

I used the last few seconds on the firelight on my shirt to memorize the numerical code: eight, fourteen, AE24, or just twenty four. Maybe two and four. My birth date, down to the year.

_Classy, Edea,_ I remember thinking._ So fucking classy_.

As the charred remains of fabric snuffed out in the corner, I let out a laugh, and didn't stop until my sides hurt and my stomach cramped up.

This part may seem a bit far fetched and hard to follow, but bear with me.

Since I couldn't see with no matches left to burn anything else – my pants or maybe my own hair might have bought me more time, but of course I didn't think of it then – I traced the indents of the white numbers on the lock with my fingers and managed to find "twelve." Without thinking I turned the nob to the left, on a hunt for "eight," but I lost track of the ticks. So I tried again, and when I found what I thought to be "five," I turned it slowly to the right, counting the ticks until I reached "fourteen." I was about to go back left, to the end of the spectrum and back to the beginning to look for "fourteen," but it was here that I realized I didn't know how many ticks there even _were_ in this lock, how many numbers.

So I licked the tip of my finger and wiped a small bit of the spit on the number "one." Then I counted the ticks until I came across the wet spot again. I did this twice and determined thirty six was the definite total.

Back to one. Left to eight, right to fourteen, then the next two numbers. The lock didn't open. I tried it another way. Right to eight, left to fourteen. Nothing. Six tries later, still nothing.

A sudden fear struck me. What if, by some cruel twist of fate, I had missed a number? I knew that I couldn't go back to check. The pages were burned. One little number could have been burned, sealing my fate. Sealing me down here, trapped and alone, waiting to die.

I hadn't even considered that.

Again, I began to laugh. That laughter turned into incoherent screaming. I screamed and I beat my hands on the door like a madwoman until I hurt my pinky finger. At that point I flew back and yelled out a stream of cuss words. I thought of Rinoa, and wondered where she was now. She had been there during the ice test, hadn't she? Where was she now?

I called for her, "RINOA! HELP! RINOA I NEED YOU!" But there was no response, of course. Not at first anyway.

When I let out one final, defeated scream – "HELP ME, DAMN YOU!" – the ashes in the corner burst into a blue fire that stretched all the way up to the ceiling, illuminating the whole room.

My eyes stung. It was not an angry fire. The flames burned without greed or hunger, and did not seem to give off any heat. It seemed almost gentle. Benevolent.

I couldn't believe it. Like the moron I am, I reached out to touch it, and the feeling of a cool breeze came over my hand. "You are here," I whispered.

A voice filled me, so loud I jumped.

"Go, Sydney."

Even now, I am reminded of the voice from the dream I had a while ago. Dream, vision, meditation, whatever you want to call it.

_Hold on to me, Sydney. Hold on to me... My name? Right now, my name is Endsville. But I had... another name... before.._.

The voice of Endsville.

Could have been hallucinating, maybe just a side effect of whatever drug they used to knock me out before the test, but it didn't matter if the light was real, because I could see the numbers on the lock. As it turns out, the number one I thought I'd found was a seven, and I'd been programming the combination wrong the entire time.

With the fire to light me, I collected my nerves. The lock ticked as I turned the spindle, and then unhinged.

My eyes rejected the unnatural light outside the steel door. The fire disappeared from the room, and Edea was there on the other side of the door.

I passed.

* * *

"So you're a Dustfinger."

I looked up from my cup of hot chocolate. "A what?"

Edea pressed, "A Dustfinger. You could touch the fire." She tapped her nails on the arm of her easy chair. "And you can hear it, as well?"

"Yeah."

"You understand it."

"Right..."

"I thought as much. Not just a Dustfinger then. A Nulltongue as well."

I pulled the blanket tighter over my shoulders. "What's the difference?"

"A Nulltongue speaks to fire. Forms a relationship with its spiritual essence, the Null." She beamed like a little girl. "I had my suspicions from the get go."

_Well, duh, _I thought.

"Why didn't you give me the fire test first? I lit someone on fire. That's why you brought me here in the first place."

Maybe I was being a little too forward, but Edea didn't seem to mind.

"You were not ready, little one. The other tests built up your endurance. I'm sure that's why you passed this final exam with flying colors." Final. Key word. "Besides, I had to make sure. What good would it do to give you the fire test first if you were truly born for wind, or ice, like myself?"

"A hell of a lot, because I wasn't."

Edea laughed. I didn't find any of this funny. "How silly that turned out to be. I suppose you could say it's all merely a fancy on your part. Now you're ready to learn."

That last part floored me. "Learn? Learn what? I thought I was already learning."

Edea leaned back in her seat. "Just because we know that you can speak to fire doesn't mean you have mastered it, little one. Practice makes perfect. I know you'll love it." Starting to dismiss me, she opened up a book and set it on her lap. "You're a very good girl, do you know that? You're a cheater, but a good girl at heart."

I just stared at her face. She was an unbelievable creature. A monster. She had been torturing me for months, calling me a cheater and punishing me for things I couldn't control, keeping me from my family, holding my friend hostage in the Home, and all for what? To tell me she knew it was all basically useless. Just to get my "endurance" up. Ruining my life. Stealing these days from me, one by one, second by second, in the name of "my own good."

I decided, in that moment, that I was going to kill her. It didn't take much consideration, either. I just knew. It was a fact. I wasn't going to dream about it, I wasn't going to write about it, I wasn't even going to talk about it. I was just going to do it.

I thought, watching her neck, that I could have done it right there, but just then, we heard a sound, and I caught Asuka peeking around a book shelf. A witness.

"You called, Empress?"

"Yes." Edea didn't look up from her book. "Would you mind taking Sydney to her room for the night?"

I stood and put on my best pout, the same one I often used on my brother when I wanted something. Playing it up. "But Empress, I'm hungry."

"Call me Edea, little one," she said. "You did it not long ago..." There was a smirk in her voice. I remembered the ice box, how I had yelled out her first name without thinking. "...And the two of us will be working very closely from now on. There's no longer a need for formality."

It seemed like Edea was always speaking in code. Was she mad at me?

She continued, "I'll have dinner sent up to your room and you can have it in bed. You need your rest. Is that all right?" Not wanting to piss her off, I gave her a compliant nod. "Good. Run along then."

What I did next was difficult for me. Yes, I was going to kill Edea Kramer, but I knew that she was much stronger than me. If I didn't catch her by surprise when the time came, it was never going to happen. I had to be tactful. I had to paint an illusion of admiration, of Stockholm syndrome, of helplessness. Submission. Obedience. Love, even.

Now was the perfect time, what with her talking about transitions and spending more time together.

So I approached her, there in her easy-chair-throne, and I bent my head low, wrapping an arm around her neck, touching my forehead to her temple. Her skin was as cold as the creature hiding beneath, and I could taste her perfume in the back of my throat. I held her close to me as if she were the only thing I wanted in the world, and she didn't object.

Somehow that fills me with pride.

I had been expecting her to just sit there, stiff, a creature of confusion, unsure how to return human affection, but instead she closed her book and pressed her palm to the back of my neck, letting me know that she understood.

"You poor little thing," she murmured. "Just look at how much I've put you through without giving you even a drop of attention. You must be so mad at me."

Mad? I was furious. I was filled with a deep, inky rage, but not because I was deprived of attention.

Although, I'll be the first to admit that it was easy to get lost under the pressure of her hand. My skin became the topsoil for a farm of goosebumps by the time she let me go. I pulled back a bit and looked into her face, white as snow, and I wondered if she was just humoring me, or if she really meant all that she said about me being a "good girl."

Did I have her by the heartstrings, or was I submitting to her?

I can't be sure... honestly, I really can't be sure...

* * *

_"That was when the 'honed training' started. We were focusing on fire stuff alone, basically."  
"What'd she teach you to do?"  
_


	27. Chapter 27

**The End – Then**

_Simon_

It was getting to be about that time. I only had an hour, one single hour, before the explosion.

I was busy suiting up in the dim safeguard of my bedroom. The door was locked, just in case my obnoxious mother decided to burst through and bellow at me in her deep, husky voice. That night, I knew that I had to keep my wits about me. I couldn't let anything, not even my mother, distract me. Not even for a second.

My clothes had to be tight in case I needed to make a getaway. Zipping up my jacket, I went over the list in my head for maybe the seventh time.

Lighter fluid?_ Check_. Kitchen matches?_ Check._ Dynamite? _Double check_. Only one thing missing.

As I wiped the sweat on my palms off on my pants, my mind wandered over to a particular redhead with an angular smile. He should have been there. He would have enjoyed himself.

If I could have, I would have used this opportunity to break into the Home, find him, and take him back to our apartment. I would have hidden him away in my room and never let him out. Our mothers would never have to know.

But I was needed elsewhere. Such was an expedition that would simply have to wait. I hoped that in all the fuss, maybe he could escape on his own. He would know to come and find me.

I went for the door, but my foot caught on something as I was taking a step, and I went tumbling to the ground, chin-to-floor. My boot laces were undone. Of all things, my boot laces!

I tried not to see it as an omen, and struggled to tie the two knots as tightly as they would go on my feet. Couldn't have a shoe slipping off in a heated moment, after all.

This seemed like a waste of time, but the extra second or two gave me a chance to catch my father coming through the front door after a fourteen hour shift at the office. Sitting up on my knees, I unlocked the bedroom door and opened it just a crack, watching as he hung up his coat and greeted my mother.

As you can imagine, in the time since the parade my family had changed just the same as the world around them. Mother had put on quite a bit of weight. Her auburn hair had lost its volume, and in the right light you could see that she hadn't bothered to pluck her grays in quite a long time. Her face always looked swollen and puffy, and her dark eyes had sunk back into her head from constant rubbing and too much time spent in front of a computer screen. Whenever I would pass her, I would get a strong whiff of cigarette smoke that went straight from my nose and into the back of my head. Who knows how much she was (illegally) smoking in those days. Who could blame her?

Dad was always tired, sometimes so tired that when he came home he fell into bed without eating dinner. As a result he had thinned out. Standing next to my mother, he looked like an emaciated animal. His skin clung to his cheek bones. Mother had to become wary, because the markings she painted on him with her fists began to show up easier with time. He began to wear long sleeves, and I hadn't seen a wrench in his hands ever since he'd closed down the garage. His once hearty voice became soft and meek.

These two people, Abigail and Tristan Gunner, were strangers to me. They were not my parents. I did not recognize them at all.

The living room lights were off, but the television was on, as always. Mother got up from the couch as Dad closed the front door behind him. He set his bag – one of my old ones, which I no longer needed since I wasn't attending school – down on the floor and went to Mother with a tender hug, which I was surprised to see her return. They stayed like that for a while, until finally he kissed the top of her head and looked at her. Mother clung to his arms with either hand.

"It's really true?"

Dad nodded in reply. "I picked it up after work. Got it right here in my wallet." He wore a brilliant smile that had captured rays from the sun. "A full ride pass out of the city, for a family of four."

I felt myself tense up. A family of four? What was he talking about?

My blood chilled with guilt as I put the pieces together. He'd picked up a green card. I realized with horror that he must have been saving up and scavenging for months in order to afford it.

No.

"Four..."

"That's right," he said. "I'm going to make a deposit to pay off the family debt and get Sydney back."

After Sydney disappeared, Mother seemed to forget her. Not on purpose, I don't think; it was probably just easier to forget that her only daughter had been taken away with no visitation rights. The expression she wore that evening was one of remembrance.

"Does this mean we're moving?" she asked.

No, no.

"We'll have to save up just a little more, but yes. We can get our kid and get the hell out of here, Abby." He hadn't called her that in months. "We can start a new life. Somewhere..."

No, no, no, no, no. I wanted my sister back more than anything, but my first priority was dealing with Edea and keeping the kids at the mill safe. I couldn't start a new life right now. I wasn't ready for that.

Mother brought her hands up to his face, and I got that nervous quell in my stomach that children usually get when they see their parents kissing. It was actually kind of nice, but fuck if I wasn't on edge that night. "Where though, Tristan?"

"Twilight Town," Dad replied. "I went there once on a repair run. It's a little seaside town. Hardly anyone knows about it. There are a few garages there. Maybe I could..." He paused. Tried not to talk about work. "There's a better education system, too. There's always some event going on around town, festivals and competitions... It's perfect for the kids."

_Says you,_ I thought. How could he possibly know what was best for me when he was hardly around anymore?

Of course, it goes without saying that I had kept the Patriots a well concealed secret from most everyone above the age of eighteen, and that included my parents. It wasn't a spoken rule, but it was generally understood among its members that the Patriots couldn't be spoken of. Ever. If anyone were to find out, we would be crushed like little bugs in Edea's garden salad.

This issue of the green card had me an anxious wreck. I couldn't leave. Not just yet. I had to make sure the kids had a foundation, something to work from, something to build from... for that matter, I wanted to build it with them if I could.

But fuck, there were more important things to think about right now.

I stood and pushed the bedroom door open with the toe of my shoe. Getting out of the apartment was like crossing no-man's-land. It was impossible to tell when and where you would be shot. The only thing you knew for certain was that you_ would_ be shot. My goal, the front door, towered before me, and I kept my eyes glued to the knob as if it would open up to the entire universe.

It was a clean, straight shot.

"Simon."

Drat.

I froze in place, my legs heavier than ever. Mother stood with one hand on her hip. She and Dad had broken their embrace.

"Where ya goin' so late?" she asked, her voice coated with sugar.

"Doesn't matter. Not waking up for school tomorrow."

"Don't remind me." Mother sighed, keeping her cool. "What am I gonna do with you?"

"Fuck if I know."

"Hey, take it easy on the language. You're not eighteen yet."

"Right," I replied.

"If you're going out, you're on your own for dinner."

"Like I hadn't figured that out."

Dad's face contorted with a mix of disappointment and fear. He had nothing to worry about, though. This whole green card business had put Mother in a good mood, and as long as he kept her happy there was no reason for her to lay a finger on him. It wasn't my job to look after him. Never would be.

I closed the front door, leaving little pieces of my home life behind in each of my step, until it finally disappeared from my mind all together. When I thought of the fire, it became easy to slip out of myself and all that held me back. When I held a match, I forgot Simon Gunner and the name along with him. I became someone without a name, a leader that everyone could learn from but no one could depend on. When I gripped the plastic red lighter that once belonged to Chel, I assumed the form of a brimstone wall.

I got a release.

It was a little colder than usual outside. The rain would be starting soon, again, which would make things difficult if we weren't very careful. But the what-ifs weren't important. There were endless what-ifs, endless possibilities. My purpose was to reach my goal, and my goal, be it the doorknob or the storehouse, was the only thing I could think about. It was the only thing I could depend on.

The walk from the apartment to the mill was a long one. I had to walk about two miles to get to the very edge of the suburbs where the train tracks and the old mines ran along the shore of Evergrove Lake, which seemed to go on forever. There, the mill stood near the water, hidden by the rising and falling hills.

"Password," a small voice whispered from behind the front door.

"Wall."

I'll only ask once that you not make fun of the password. It was easy to remember and difficult to guess. Chel was the one who came up with it.

I slithered through the small opening they made for me, and I was home.

The mill only had two rooms, but the lower of the two levels was twice the perimeter of a modest house. Upstairs there was nothing but an empty room with a broken window and some wire hanging from the ceiling. No one ever went up there, except those who needed to talk alone.

Downstairs, there were a few bundles of blankets on the ground, some of them wrapped around sleeping kids, others empty, waiting to warm someone. Sometimes the kids we met came to stay overnight. Others never went home.

I was careful not to step on anyone's belongings; pillows, sheets, discarded dolls and barbies, the occasional tooth brush or duffel bag. If I remember correctly, someone even had a ratty little dog in there. I'm still not sure who it belonged to.

I found Chel in his dirty Omega uniform shaving bits out of a soap block. I couldn't figure out what he was trying to whittle just by the shape. He wasn't very good at it.

"Long time no see," I said. It'd been two weeks; he hadn't made it down the weekend before.

"Whatever."

As I stripped off my shirt, he helped to remove the masking tape from my chest. "Wow, these are the big ones," he said, referring to the matchbox. "Where'd you get these?"

"Mom's got a private stash."

"Seriously?"

"She's really scared of blackouts." The tape left prominent, red marks across my stomach. "You can pass them around to whoever wants them. I've got my lighter."

"We've already got matchboxes."

"Yeah, but these'll last longer. Give them to some newbies."

"True..."

I had expected the soldier to go and pass them out, but instead he asked, "Simon, are you okay?"

Which caught me off guard. Was I?

I thought on it. Given the way he had rejected my feelings, it was easy to forget that we'd been best friends once upon a time. He'd been my closest and dearest companion ever since he'd moved to Endsville almost two years ago. Chel could read me like an open book with a bolded font. Fucker.

"My dad wants to leave town," I told him. His eyes widened, and he took a look around before taking a step closer.

"Simon."

"I know. I know that I can't."

"When?"

"I don't want to talk about it right now."

Which was a nice way of saying that I didn't know. Chel looked mad, and I considered apologizing, but what did I have to apologize for?

He shut his mouth and stepped back again, holding his hands up. Like the good man I knew him to be, he changed the subject.

"Everything's ready. Dylan already planted the bomb. He's just waiting for the call."

That was enough to bring a grin to my sour face. "Dylan? You made _Dylan_ the distraction?"

"He volunteered."

"Crazy son of a bitch..."

I remember Dylan just as well as I remember my own breath. Dylan Kennedy was one of our newest members, a part time runaway and a full time psychopath; a boy with the murderous intent of a war hero when you mentioned Edea. We rarely ever spoke, but I knew him well because he was the only one of the runaways that seemed just as crazy about the fire as I was. He spent most of his time staring into the flame of a lighter, always the same one. One time I asked him if I could see it, and he gave me the filthiest look behind a pair of black sunglasses.

"This shit's crazy," he used to say. "Someone should write a book about us."

The only thing I regret about Dylan is that I never took the time to get to know him better. He took burning seriously. He lived and breathed fire, and it was reassuring to know that he was the one to set the bomb.

There was no turning back. We'd passed the point of no return hours ago.

"Okay, load everyone up," I told Chel. "We leave in ten minutes."

This was it. Our big moment. This would be a day that went down in history. This would be the day the Patriots made their anger known.

I cracked my knuckles in preparation for what promised to be one of the best nights of my life.

* * *

_"So we thought, anyway."  
"I never got the whole story. What happened that night?"_


	28. Chapter 28

**The End – Then**

_Sydney_

We were in the reading room (as usual) a little after ten at night. This time I was the one in the arm chair, staring down one of Edea's beautiful candles. Edea stood behind the chair, hands rested on my shoulders.

"Envision these numbers as we count down," she said with her hypnotic voice. "Twelve."

These nightly meditations had been going on for about a week, and I was actually growing to like them. Edea would count down aloud, and I would relax. She would count down, and I would concentrate. Count down, drift. At first, I pretended to drift, trying to stay conscious just in case she tried something funny. After the first two times I sat awake daydreaming, she caught on to my little game, and she had me perform a few trust exercises before we continued.

It had since become much easier to dive into her voice. I didn't trust it, but I could pretend.

"Seven."

I'd started reading ahead in Rinoa's diary. Not far, I didn't really have time for that. I would get a few weeks ahead at most when I remembered, but there wasn't really all that much to read. There was a lull in Rinoa's life which mirrored my own. She talked about that Squall guy and his presence in the castle more than anything or anybody else. He was working at Edea's castle, the same as Chel. Squall had the same secret as Chel too: he reported to Rinoa about some group in their town called the Timber Resistance Squad. She worried about him all the time. I think she was in love with him.

Then all of a sudden, it just ended. Just cut off, without warning. No conclusion, empty pages. I think she forgot to start writing. I wondered why.

There was another man in the diary, working as Edea's bodyguard. He came in later, but in all of the entries where he was written, his name was scratched out with dark pen.

_Starts with an S. That's all I know._

"Three."

The visuals usually started on their own once we got this far. Sometimes the numbers would show up in front of my eyes. I saw them as big, green numbers with an outline... but whenever I tried to focus and rationalize them, they would disappear. It was irritating at first, but I'd grown to accept it and let myself fade into my mind without objection.

"Two."

Sometimes, when I wasn't doing it right, meditation gave me motion sickness.

"One."

I breathed deep.

"Open your eyes. Look at the fire."

So I did. There was a white halo around the small wick. Whispers filled up my head.

_Hello._

"Ask it to approach you," Edea coached. Her voice sounded miles away compared to the fire. The fire went off in my head and spread itself out in all corners of my skull, disappearing before anyone else could catch it.

We had been attempting this exercise since the meditations started. The point was to get the fire to move, but I hadn't really gotten anything out of it yet.

"Hello," I replied without speaking. "Can you come here, please?"

Nothing, as to be expected.

"Please, can you come here?"

Nothing.

I took another deep breath and held up one finger, focusing, speaking with my mind. "Can you come _here_? Can you come here?" I thought I sounded like a nagging mother, repeating myself over and over again to a child, but it seemed to be having some effect. I could tell the fire was acknowledging my words, it was just a matter of getting it to obey.

Edea said the trick was sincerity, acknowledging that you as the caster depend on your element more than it depends on you, be it fire or ice or whatever. Without it, you're basically useless as a caster. You can't even be called a caster.

"Can you? Can you come here?"_ Hsssss.._. "Come _here_, please."

The flame grew, reaching, until it became a long string of orange glow. It came near, and the end snaked around my finger. I remember it was warm, but not hot.

This was the first time I really felt the fire. I thought all the things I could learn to do, how powerful I could become. How dangerous.

"Ha-!"

"Don't panic. You're doing it!"

"Edea-! Edea, look! Look!"

"You're doing it! Good, Sydney!"

The tail of the fire eventually caught up with itself, forming an orb at my fingertip. When I moved my finger, it followed and left behind a trail of orange light. Curious, I pressed my finger into the palm of my other hand, and the orb passed itself along, floating in my grasp.

"This is amazing, Edea!"

"I knew that you had power. We just needed to unlock it." Using both of her hands, she closed mine around the orb, and it disappeared into me, leaving this warm, pins-and-needles feeling, like when your leg falls asleep.

Everything was quiet... perfect, in fact. I dunno what it was, but I'd never felt so at home in this place.

Of course it couldn't last. I heard something in the distance, like a siren, high off the ground. I thought it was part of the exercise.

Except it wasn't in my head, so it couldn't be part of the meditation. It was a real siren, going off in the city.

The door burst open, and I blinked back to awareness a little too fast. My body felt like it'd tripped and fallen back into itself. If that makes sense.

"I_ told_ you not to bother us at this hour."

The officer was panting. He'd been running. "It's a bomb ma'am! The Home is being attacked!"

It was as if Edea put on a whole new face. My gentle teacher disappeared behind the intense fury of a warlord, and I thought back to the beak-like crown that made her look so monstrous. This was the face of the woman who put me through all those tests; this was the politician who killed the governor in cold blood. This was the Empress.

"It's those nasty children again. The arsonists."

Was she talking about my brother and his friends? What were they doing? Were they rescuing Zane?

"Gather the force and head into town. Capture anyone you see, trainees included."

"...And if there's resistance, ma'am?"

Edea adjusted her posture, so that her back was long and her head parallel to the ceiling. She took her gloves from the back of the chair and slipped one over her hand. Her fingers looked sharpened, long, like talons. The same fingers that tore into the governor until he was dead in the street.

It bothered me to think that only seconds before I had been swimming around in her voice. She made it easy to forget who she was.

Until she spoke.

"Open fire," she said without missing a beat.

* * *

The drive down the mountain was fast and dangerous. Our vehicle moved along with a unit so that we were constantly blocked in, in case someone tried something from the outside. I breathed slow as the car rocked, my breath on the air.

There was no moon and the stars were dim, so we could see the fire from miles away.

I couldn't remember the last time I came down from the castle. Christmas came and went without me noticing; it was January now, so I hadn't been in the city for a little over a year. The sights shocked me.

I saw frightened men and women closing the shutters in their windows. I saw a mother hide her child behind her when she saw our cars coming up the road. People who couldn't pay the rent, shadows in alleys. "FOR SALE" signs on every block. Fire, sometimes. Little licks from lighters held up at us in defiance. Never more than two at a time. We didn't have time to stop and beat them, but Edea talked about it. Garbage bags. Broken glass. A barking dog. Tents on the asphalt. Wide eyed kids without coats, unable to start fires to keep warm. Dirty, sick, dying people of all ages wandering about the empty houses with nowhere to be, flinching, freezing just at the sight of us, like a floodlight in the corneas of the ill. My brother wasn't among them. Neither was Zane, or Gwen.

We passed my old house. There were lights on inside. It had been repainted, but badly. The front window was broken and boarded up. The grass had gone brown. Dad would have a field day if he saw.

Zane's house came next. No light on there, but no sign either. I imagined Mrs. Aspen, Zane's mom, curled up in her children's empty bedrooms, crying, alone in the dark. I got a stomach cramp. My neighborhood was there and gone in seconds.

Things started to clean up a bit the deeper we got into the city.

The brown turned to grey, the buildings grew taller. The number of people outside started to decline. There were lights and one or two parked cars. No traffic, but maybe that's obvious. White concrete that looked like no one ever walked on it. Blank billboards without advertisements. Shimmering, reflective surfaces. No garbage, I mean none anywhere. Not a stain, not a bubble gum wrapper. It was all so clean. It almost felt sterile, like a doctor's office. I've lived in Endsville my whole life, and I hardly recognized it. This place didn't look like my city at all.

The plumes of smoke pouring up into the night sky was almost a relief. I wanted to warn my brother, "Run! We're getting closer, get out of there fast!" But what could I do?

I rubbed the sweat from my hands off on my jeans and tried not to picture some officers "opening fire" on my brother.

The cars stopped at the iron gates outside the Home, but Edea waited for an officer to open her door before she stepped out. She looked poised, with her hawk crown and her silk dress. She kept her hands wound tight in front of her, eyes straight ahead, an accurate sketch of wealth.

I think the fire had been mostly put out by then, but the building was still smoking. The kids had all been evacuated. They stood outside in their pajamas. Each was just as clean as everything else on this side of town, but they all huddled together in a shivering mass. As I scooted out of the car, I could see them looking at me, whispering.

I zipped up my jacket.

An officer went to Edea and saluted.

"What's the damage?"

"Bomb. A hole was blown in the cafeteria. It didn't look like anything was taken, though."

Edea scanned the crowd. "What do you mean?"

"Well, nothing was stolen, and every head is accounted for." The man wore a smile too big for his face. He tried stepping into Edea's line of sight, looking all too pleased. "I think we handled the situation well."

My question fell out of my mouth before I could stop it. "You didn't catch anybody?"

Which made Edea's gaze fall to me. Oops.

Just then, there was a soft tremor in the distance. Everyone looked up, and from here we could see an explosion of soft light on the mountain. We each came to the same conclusion.

This was just a distraction. The arsonists were really up at the castle right now, and we were all down here at the Home, twiddling our thumbs. Golden! It took everything I had not to burst out laughing, because I knew just who the arsonists were, and I knew they were a smart group of people. Brilliant people.

Some of the kids started chattering, but Edea whirled around, and her sharp hand gripped at the officer's throat, and everything went silent. She lifted him off the ground, a full grown man made of muscle and might. His hand flew off his head, and he made a sick sound as he struggled to get air to his lungs.

Edea's words started in a whisper and rose to a terrible scream. "Whoever set the bomb is STILL HERE! IDIOTS! FIND THEM! FIND THEM AND _BRING THEM TO ME!"_

She dropped the man and everyone who could took a step back. I had never heard her yell like that before, even when dealing with me. She was so taken with fury.

"Half of you, secure the perimeter. I don't care what it takes, you FIND the little shit and you bring them to me alive. The rest of you, back to the castle."

The officers moved into action, some of them ushering the kids back inside, some running along towards the broken cafeteria. Edea's eyes hardened on me and I felt myself freeze.

"Get in the car."

I fell into the back seat and moved over to give her room. She sat down. Someone closed the door for her. The driver started the car, and we sped away from the scene, the rest of the unit following behind.

"Edea?"

I was expecting her to yell, but her voice was musical, like she had a song in her heart. "What is it, dear?"

"You're not going to... kill them, are you?"

"Kill who?"

"Whoever set the bomb." I thought, it had to be my brother. My brother loved his explosions, his fireworks. It had to be him. "When you find them. Are you going to kill them?"

She reached over and patted my knee. I knew better than to flinch. "Don't worry. I'd never kill a child unless it was asked of me. Unless they were begging for it. Unless it was the only thing good for them. Sometimes death is the only good thing they have to look forward to..."

Her hand felt like an anvil on my leg. "Torture."

She laughed. "Discipline."

"It's_ torture_, Edea."

I was surprised by my courage to level with her. Maybe it was because we were forming an intimacy in our weird dynamic now that she could call me her apprentice. All the same I sort of expected her nails to stab into my leg. People got by all the time with just one leg, right? I could be an amputee.

But Edea sighed and took her hand back. "Don't look at me like that, Sydney. This is what we do. This is the way the world works."

"Really..."

"Really."

My brother wasn't bad. The people who answered to him weren't bad. They – no, we – were just kids, frustrated with this world and how it had turned against us. She wanted me to believe that they were in the wrong for standing up for what they believed in; she wanted me to believe that people who refused to conform deserved what they got, and that giving it to them would be doing them a favor. Edea truly, honestly wanted me to take her side. She wanted me to agree that naked power deserved to make those decisions as long as everyone agreed, and sometimes even when they didn't. But I didn't agree.

"I can't believe that. I won't believe that."

"You'd better learn to." Edea stared out the window. "You'll need to."

* * *

_"It was really that easy for you to work with her like that?"_  
_"I didn't have a choice."_  
_"Yeah, I know, but I mean, meditation..."_  
_"Dude, leave me alone. I don't know what you want."_


End file.
